Two Roads Converged
by unwinding fantasy
Summary: A tale of two warriors. Beatrix & Steiner. XI: Find Your Way
1. Prologue: To Tie The Paths

**Title:**_ Two Roads Converged _(or formerly _A Tale of Two Warriors_)  
**Author:** unwinding fantasy (aka Aqua Phoenix1)  
**Beta-Reader: **fyre byrd  
**Disclaimer (applicable to entire story): **Final Fantasy IX and any such related material belongs to Square-Enix. I do not claim ownership of the characters, places etc. depicted in this story. The original title of this fanfiction was generously donated by Moonlit Aria, to whom I am eternally grateful. The new title was inspired by Robert Frost's poem, _The Road Not Taken_, which I regrettably also do not own. The poem _Rose of May_ by Mary Howitt isn't mine either. Sword forms are inspired by those mentioned in Robert Jordan's _The Wheel of Time_ novels, though they are tweaked to fit in with the FFIX universe and I have definitely avoided copying them directly. Plagiarism is **bad!**  
**Summary:** In a nutshell, Beatrix and Steiner's lives before, during and after the events of FFIX.  
**Rating: **T (Rated for violence and swearing)

_**N.B. **_-- Welcome to my baby. Not literally, of course, but it's the first fic I've written and after years of hard work I'm re-writing the entire story as I was unhappy with the majority of it. Previous readers, please re-read all the new installments because when I say I've given TRC a face-lift I don't just mean a couple of spelling errors. The entire story has changed for the better. Some chapters are now combined but the biggest change you'll find is that more detail has been included and (thank God!) loose ends have been tied up. The biggest alterations start from II onwards. To newcomers: I hope you get as much out of this as I put in.

As always, this remains a work-in-progress so I will continue to change it until I'm satisfied. If there are any queries, comments or suggestions, please leave a review or email me. The link's in my profile. Be warned: I'm infamously slow in replies much of the time because I don't check my inbox as often as I should. Yes, I'm bad.

* * *

_Ah! there's the lily, marble pale,  
The bonny broom, the cistus frail;  
The rich sweet pea, the iris blue,  
The larkspur with its peacock hue;  
All these are fair, yet hold I will  
That the Rose of May is fairer still._

_'Tis grand 'neath palace walls to grow,  
To blaze where lords and ladies go;  
To hang o'er marble founts, and shine  
In modern gardens, trim and fine;  
But the Rose of May is only seen  
Where the great of other days have been. _

-- from **ROSE OF MAY **by Mary Howitt (1799 - 1888)

* * *

**Prologue**

_**To Tie The Paths**_

**

* * *

**The swords clashed, their dull ringing echoing throughout the empty courtyard. Dawn was breaking, the first rays of light creeping over the mountains to play with the mirror of water that was Alexandria Castle's moat. No one had risen yet save for these two warriors. Each was locked in the battle, immersed in the war-dance, and neither was willing to yield. It had been this way for almost an hour.

Once again, steel met steel and the warriors struggled for a few seconds, each trying to wrong-foot the other. Given the opportunity, the muscular man would utilise his greater strength to overpower the smaller girl. Aware of this danger, she unlocked her blade from his, springing back to avoid his broadsword as it curved upwards in the Trick Sparrow Takes Flight and they continued, each working the forms they had been taught. Wind Howls on the Plains was deflected by Rock Falls Down the Mountainside. Shifting into Antlion Guards the Den, a defensive stance that permitted easy reaction to a range of attacks, the man awaited his opponent's advance.

However, Steiner a large man and heavily armoured at that; the girl judged she possessed speed enough to strike him down. Moving with practiced ease, she executed a relatively basic vertical slash. Steiner smiled at the simple attack and he moved to parry. At the last moment Beatrix swivelled on one foot, her blade changing its path to become the Griffin Descends from the Skies, catching him along the side of his head. Droplets of red dribbled down his face where the sword had split his skin, a long and thin cut. Thankfully his helmet, along with his chain mail, deflected the worst of it, saving it from becoming worse than a superficial wound.

Perhaps she had miscalculated her strike; the jolt from hitting his armour caused the brunette to deliver the next swing, the decisive swing, too slow and Steiner easily stepped past it. Now inside her defences -- she should never have taken such an overly offensive stance against someone she would need to whittle down -- Steiner swung his sword, risking placing all his weight behind the blow. Eyes widening at the unexpected assault, the girl barely blocked the attack, brows knitting as she desperately tried to match his power. Trapped and unable to withdraw, but knowing he would win a contest of pure strength, Beatrix had no options left.

"Yield," Steiner spoke through teeth clenched in concentration, "and no harm shall befall you."

"Yield?" Regardless of her position, he swore blue eyes lit up with something very akin to amusement. "But if I were to do that, I would become as honourless as you, Master Steiner."

Anger fuelling his muscles, Steiner pushed his advantage, overpowering his opponent. Caught as she was, Beatrix could merely jump back in retreat. As expected, the withdrawal came a little late. The armoured man brought his sword around in Parting the Water, dealing a harsh blow to her torso. A hiss of pain escaped parched lips as Beatrix crumpled under the force of his blade, her own slipping in her damp palms. She only managed to recover it halfway, hands holding it with the blade pointing uselessly towards the ground. Steiner smirked, satisfied he'd proven exactly how foolhardy omitting armour from one's attire was. He advanced on her, clearly willing to do whatever it took to win the battle. Sweat-streaked face taut with concentration, he raised his sword to the heavens, poised for the "deathblow".

And suddenly, an airship collided with his stomach.

At least, that's what it felt like. Stars gone supernova spun behind his eyes but his perception was not so distorted that he missed what had transpired. The agile girl had rammed the hilt of her own sword into him, driving the wind from his lungs. For a moment, Beatrix appeared amazed she had rendered such a hulk of a man breathless. Reining in her surprise, she followed the attack up with a swift kick to her opponent's jaw, making him to stagger back a few steps before falling to one knee, gasping for precious air. Vaguely, he was aware of Beatrix adopting his stance of seconds ago -- his pain nullified his desire to know whether she did so out of respect for him or simply because she'd been taught to expect the unexpected. The heavy iron sword that felt so right in his hand now fell to the ground, emitting a defeated clang as it met with grey-blue cobblestones.

Though preoccupied by the searing slash across her belly that left her unable to appraise her handiwork, the near exhausted girl managed a satisfied half-smile. He'd been somewhat weaker than she had anticipated though she was hardly complaining -- the less spent she appeared the more disgraced he would be. She stepped forward to claim his sword, the movement causing fire to burst along her wound anew. Wincing slightly, she grasped her blade tight and chanted a quick, low-level curative spell, subjecting herself to the uncomfortable sensation of skin knitting itself together. The wound only partially disappeared, but at least the bleeding stopped.

Brushing chocolate brown hair from her face -- her headband clearly did not do its job properly -- Beatrix turned to the struggling Steiner, who seemed to have recovered his lung function. "You're not very fast for an officer, Lieutenant," she remarked smugly, daringly testing the boundaries of his wrath. The armoured one muttered something inaudible, his face growing livid at her words before he struggled to his feet. Reclaiming his sword, the knight resumed battle stance, yet his movements, fluid when he fought, had lost their grace to fatigue. He lifted his gaze to hers, revealing eyes that were black as deepest night, all light swallowed in his anger and pain and humiliation.

Beatrix could not keep her eyebrows from climbing at this display of determination.

"I'm not through with you yet!" he bellowed, eyes hard augers tunnelling into hers. With a bestial cry he charged towards her, an unexpected manoeuvre for one on the brink of collapsing. Even Antlion Guards the Den could not protect Beatrix from the heavy knight's reckless advance. Steiner crashed into her, uncaring whether he met with her sword or not, sending Beatrix's battered body flying. Catapulting across the courtyard, she landed heavily a few steps from the water's edge, her body curling itself at a strange angle, one hand trailing in the lake. Her long sword lay lost at her conqueror's feet; he regarded the tool for a moment before kicking it out of her reach with an unimpressed grunt. He inspected her as one might inspect a lamb ripe for slaughter: though unconscious, her expression wasn't slack as was usual when one slept. Instead, her face was pained, her breathing coming in ragged, uneven gulps. A fresh bruise blossomed on her cheek, tainted yellow petals spreading almost to her chin.

Lieutenant Adelbert Steiner looked down at his fallen "comrade" with disgust. The girl, a young seventeen-year-old, was merely a foot soldier and as such simply should not pose any threat to him -- during his five years as a Knight of Pluto in the service of Queen Brahne he had fought many battles and survived unimaginable hardship -- yet here was this girl, matching him move for move. Steiner tried to convince himself that it was good fortune rather than skill that had helped her land a blow; indeed, Lady Luck had lent more than a hand in ensuring Beatrix had remained standing so long!

The trainee at his feet stirred. Although the girl annoyed him immensely Steiner's principles forbade him to leave a wounded soldier unattended. He sheathed his sword, wrinkling his nose in undisguised distaste as he bent over her for a closer appraisal. The stench of stale sweat and blood both fresh and drying filled his nostrils, twisting the fragrance of roses that also hung in the otherwise clean spring air. Beatrix was badly bruised and her body was riddled with cuts, small nicks where she had avoided his broadsword. Apart from the wound along her stomach, her agility had ensured these weren't very deep.

She certainly had her mother's speed.

The notion caused anger to bubble in him again like swamp sludge oozing its way through his body, playing all manner of unpleasant tricks on him. Problem was, many of these fancies were not that at all; they had far too much truth to them. Steiner tried to fight these images and the emotions that accompanied them away but it was hard to defeat an invisible enemy -- the bitter aftertaste of gyshal liquor lingered on his tastebuds. One failure, a failure as large as his, should merely make the right course of action all the more obvious. He was just about to pick up the injured knight-to-be and deliver her to the hospital wing when,

"Lieutenant Adelbert Steiner!"

At the sound of his name, said knight abruptly abandoned Beatrix and turned to meet the newcomer. General Madelene of the Alexandrian Army stood glaring icily at him. A fearsome sight to behold, her cape and golden locks whipped behind her as the spring zephyr suddenly gathered strength. Catching his attention was the legendary sword and heirloom to Alexandria's general, Save the Queen, which hung at her side, its garnet-encrusted hilt sparkling as it caught the rays of the rising sun. Noticing who had intruded upon his attempted valiant apology (well, a swift delivery to Doctor Tot was as close to an apology as the Lieutenant was willing to give) Steiner immediately stood at attention, giving a quick albeit messy salute in acknowledgment of his superior.

At his silence, her hands found her hips. "What in Alexander's name do you think you're doing?" Her voice contained the usual degree of frosty bite, stormy grey eyes reflecting her disapproval. Not bothering to wait for another answer that mightn't come, the General strode towards the fallen Beatrix. Kneeling, Madelene cast Curaga; the girl's eyes fluttered open. Upon seeing her rescuer Beatrix scrambled to her feet, performing a hasty salute herself. Despite her General's efforts she could still feel a dull pain in her head.

"What is going on here, soldier?" the usually calm Madelene demanded. Beatrix drew a steadying breath, trying not to show how shaken she was by the conflict, not to mention the fact that she was being addressed by her idol. She had only just been denied the privilege of joining Madelene's group of trainee elites, which would be drilled by the Great General herself, courtesy of Steiner's war declaration on her. In all her life Beatrix had never encountered someone so arrogant as he, someone who with the lift of a goading eyebrow could send her blood boiling. Probably, he distilled 'arrogance' and consumed it on a daily basis. _No one _believed themselves to be the only competent person in the universe as thoroughly as Steiner.

Then there was his belief that women had no place in the military. Having undergone instruction for three years before finally being stationed at the castle -- a pearl of an opportunity not many soldiers-in-training were granted -- and being possessed of a strong patriotic streak, Beatrix hadn't taken his remarks lightly. Never mind that indulgent Treno was her birthplace; her mother had been Alexandrian. At the time it had been the perfect excuse for escaping that town's endless blanket of night, the pickpockets and worse that had been dredged up from festering waterways and her father's insistence that she marry a monster. And while she could never be proud of disobeying Father's wishes, there were other things she could achieve to make herself worthy of his blessing.

Yes, Steiner may suggest she should "return to playing with wooden swords" as "there are things a woman is better equipped for." Beatrix refused to give the dolt the satisfaction. She glanced over at him, glaring fiery daggers at the self-satisfied expression on his face and wordlessly told him there were things _he_ was "better equipped" for. Such as throwing himself into Mount Gulug.

Madelene cleared her throat loudly.

Drawn out of her plots for revenge, Beatrix turned her gaze back to the blonde one. "I'm sorry, ma'am?" she said, ashamed that she had ignored her commander in favour of Adelbert Steiner.

"I asked you why you were doing battle with Lieutenant Steiner," Madelene repeated, a slight trace of annoyance in her voice. She glanced at the armoured knight, making no attempts to disguise her scrutiny. Beatrix surmised she too must have been disbelieving that pedantic Steiner, the rumoured soon-to-be Captain of the Knights of Pluto, was acting out of turn. It was unnatural for him to lower himself to the chivalric equivalent of brawling, especially given nobody chanced gambling their lives against his superior swordsmanship. Honourless cowards. She felt a snarl coming dangerously close to forming on her face but a dull stab made it reconsider appearing. Poking experimentally at her cheek, Beatrix discovered that her General hadn't healed the bruise, instead choosing to leave it there as a reminder of her folly.

Steiner smiled at her wince. Beatrix wondered if she could pick him up and hurl him into the muddy moat where he and his rusty armour could sink to the bottom forever. Of course, such actions would result in instant dismissal. Plus, she doubted she actually _could _lift him.

_'There has to be __**some**__ way to get that uppity prig into trouble… I know!' _

Steiner noticed the venomous glint in the young woman's eyes, a wordless promise that made his hands ball into fists, his body poised as if for a battle. Telling himself he was a high-ranking officer -- well, higher than _her_ anyway -- more than six years her elder, an accomplished swordsman, well-respected around the castle and _damn him _if he wasn't going to be Captain soon did nothing to quell his nerves. It was _she_ who persisted to disagree with his every thought, _she_ who had challenged him to a one-on-one duel and _she _who had drawn her sword first. Steiner had nothing to worry about at all.

He hoped.

"The Lieutenant attacked me, ma'am! H-He ordered me out here, saying it was under your authority and then… he…"

The Holy Knight gently pressed the girl on, "Go ahead, Beatrix."

"He attacked me, ma'am, claiming I was tarnishing his reputation. There were no guards around; I had to take matters into my own hands! I drew my sword. In self-defence, of course! A-And he produced that giant broadsword of his…then…" Trying to make this look convincing, Beatrix hung her head ashamedly, causing wood-coloured hair to cascade over her face.

'_Treacherous little asp!' _Steiner mentally bellowed, feeling his face grow hot. _'How dare she refuse responsibility for her own scheming! I'll… I'll… …Was that a __**sniffle?!**__'_

Rage rekindled, his throat constricted in protests as if obstructing him from making any unforgivable statements. A gauntleted hand drifted towards the pommel of his sword. Squeezing his hand tight enough to make his digits cramp against the starkly chill metal, Steiner counted to ten. Then counted backwards from ten to one. Then repeated the procedure.

Madelene listened to the story and stated quite simply, "These are very serious accusations, soldier," to which Beatrix nodded her head. Satisfied that he had now mastered his anger, Steiner opened his mouth to try explaining that Beatrix was disrespectful, rude, cunning, nasty, inept, daft and a host of other colourful adjectives. To his dismay, Madelene spoke right over the top of him, effectively drowning out his words.

"And you say there was no one here?"

"Yes, ma'am," Beatrix affirmed. She was doing a _fine _job of keeping herself in check. Steiner half expected her to crack out the champagne and dance a merry jig.

"Without any witnesses, I'm afraid there will not be sufficient evidence to press charges."

Relief…

"But I think some sort of minor punishment will do just fine."

Panic!

"I did nothing wrong!" Steiner insisted, quite audible now that Madelene had ceased prattling on, "This is just a well-orchestrated performance. It was Beatrix who--"

"Lies!" Beatrix interrupted.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to demote you, Lieutenant," Madelene stated, her voice as devoid of remorse as it ever was. Steiner stared at for a moment, trying to process this new information, trying to make the pieces fit to create a picture that _wasn't _horrifying.

"D-Demote!" he repeated dumbly.

"Down one rank…" the blonde continued, her hand drifting to the sword only she could rightfully wield, silently warning him against contesting her decision. "By the power invested in me, I pronounce you Second Lieutenant Adelbert Steiner. I shall just go and inform Captain Klein and we'll have your replacement in no time." With those last words, Madelene turned on her heel and strutted back towards the castle, pausing to pat Beatrix on the shoulder comfortingly. "You've had a tough day. I think it would be in your best interests if you retired to the barracks," Madelene's voice was laced with sympathy, an odd display of affection for the normally reserved knight.

The girl froze momentarily, dumbstruck at the General's concern, before an impossibly wide grin split her face.

'_Awestruck just like every other child that runs away from home to meet their idol,' _Steiner thought bitterly. _'So much for favouritism not being tolerated in the ranks.' _

Clearly delighted at this bonus, with a bold salute and a "Yes, ma'am!" the seventeen-year-old was off to make sure her General's command was obeyed -- with relish, Steiner guessed. Madelene eyed him suspiciously and told him to take over Beatrix's duties for the day before departing, leaving the now Second Lieutenant all alone.

"Dash it all…" was all he could bring himself to say.

* * *

**Notes on the chapter:**  
- On ages: in FFIX, Steiner is 33 years old and he also mentions he's been serving for 18 years. This means initiates are 15, give or take, when they enter the army. Beatrix and Steiner fought together when Beatrix had just turned 17 but as far as I know, there's nothing to say how old Steiner was at the time. How irritating! For simplicity's sake, I've decided their fight takes place ten years before the game.  
- Thanks to Myshu for pointing out a spelling error.


	2. I: The First Sparks Fly

**Chapter I**  
_**The First Sparks Fly**_

_**

* * *

**_Two months of ceaseless praise passed, praise for Beatrix's putting Steiner in his place, a feat that had before remained unaccomplished. Until her, no one had bothered with Steiner: they either ignored him if they were level headed, quit their job if they were emotional or slowly went crazy from his continuous tirades (which was understandably what happened to most.) So it was that the one the people proclaimed 'most sexist man ever to grace Gaia' found himself stuck in a proverbial rut, not only having to endure the normal amount of whisperings behind his back but also the outright challenges many laid before him -- it seemed everyone was going out of their way to get their own back for reasons he knew not. Apparently, whatever it was that had prevented them from doing so previously had decided to take an unauthorised holiday, much to the knight's chagrin.

And so it was that Steiner spent much of his time avoiding everyone else, that is, apart from the few friends he _did_ have, who did the best to console him -- even little Garnet, the five-year-old princess, felt sorry for him. Yet, complete evasion of the unwelcome was rather impossible, even for someone as gifted in the arts of stealth as he. The Second Lieutenant was still puzzling out how people seemed to predict exactly when he'd turn up. It wasn't as if he announced himself, and he certainly was more than capable of being quiet…

Even his allies were offering little refuge, for none dared stand up to a hoard of angry women at the best of times, let alone to salvage scraps of their friend's pride. The only thing they proved useful for was the ego-boost that came with describing his victory over Beatrix (less-than-classy it may have been but it was victory nonetheless). Regrettably, this inevitably lead into the whole demotion thing, a tale he was loath to retell, so even this small conquest passed unnoticed. So apart from sidestepping those out to get him -- in other words, practically everyone -- Steiner reverted to grumbling his words and half-heartedly (and in a slightly more paranoid manner) carrying out his job.

Perhaps worse than the fights he found himself in was the fact that Beatrix herself fended off most of these opportunists. He was well aware she did so out of earshot, yet news reached him via other Knights of Pluto, who were beginning to tease him about having a woman fight his battles for him… even though the codes of friendship proclaimed friends weren't supposed to kick you when you were down! Still, these ones persisted with their so-called well-meant jibing. Coupled with Beatrix's persistence at remaining civil to him (to him!) and everyone else -- no matter how fiery she was when provoked, if left to her own devices Beatrix was irritatingly well-mannered -- Steiner could swear he was on the brink of insanity. Working the forms in the training centre where he spent much time perfecting Darkside was a blessed haven from not only others but his own troubled mind. Fighting was good that way: it required one to hone all one's skills into the war dance. Idle thought was a warrior's downfall.

So instead of retaliating to Beatrix's mockery where he was liable to end up smooshed by thirty of the Alexandrian Army, the poor Second Lieutenant bided his time, simply watching as Beatrix was approached by numerous high-ranking officers (who had taken a sudden interest in her abilities), waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And after pulling himself out of the dreaded hole of depression, Steiner resolved to get his own back at the girl who had ruined him.

So it was that one misty morning Steiner found himself just outside of his hometown of Alexandria, along with a bunch of… chocobos?

* * *

Throughout all her travels, Beatrix had only once ridden a chocobo. This isn't at all strange: because chocobos were slowly being replaced by the Mist-powered airships of Lindblum the birds were becoming an obsolete form of transport. As such many people lived their entire lives without even seeing one. But though most countries had adopted the new vessels, Alexandria was an old-fashioned town, hardly known for its technological advances and since they were at war with Lindblum their access to airships was somewhat restricted. Chocobos, large yellow birdlike creatures, were the steeds of the Alexandrian knights, so of course it was necessary that the soldiers knew how to properly control and care for the animals. Most women soldiers, loving to play with cute animals such as the warbling chocobos, ensured Alexandria's Cavalry was never lacking volunteers. However, whilst volunteering was all good and well, putting in the hard work necessary to become an accomplished rider was an utterly different matter and as such, the names on the list of would-be riders would only end up half as long by the end of basic training -- it quickly became evident that the training was not as enjoyable as it appeared. Some people just weren't cut out for such things, a fact that after today Beatrix would know all too well.

Ready to begin compulsory basic training, Beatrix marched Squad C through the wrought iron double gates of Alexandria with some trepidation, saluting the watch guards as she went, and outside into the grassy, mountainous area that was Alexandria Plateau. Stationed out in fresh air, close to nature to please the animals -- it was unkind to keep them locked in town stables where they were restricted from their natural habitat for too long a duration -- the chocobo corrals were rather large structures to allow sufficient running space for the more lively ones. Beatrix halted her companions with a hand and a brisk order, which wasn't yelled in the manner other commanders favoured but simply spoken clearly, for she found this yielded far more efficient execution. They came to a stop a good thirty metres from the chocobo corrals, Beatrix nervously thumbing the hilt of her new long sword, a congratulatory present from Madelene at being raised to squadron leader.

Another word and her soldiers took to lining up in perfect order just as they had practiced. Tossing hair from her face as she peered around, Beatrix could see that their instructor had already arrived. She sighed heavily; she'd held onto some glimmer of hope that he wouldn't show. After all, before today she hadn't even known what a chocobo looked like and already she was expected to ride one. How on Gaia she would come out of this without looking the fool was beyond her.

Barking out one last order to conceal her anxieties and to distract her olfactory senses from the manure-mixed-with-animal smell, Beatrix steeled her nerves and went to greet the chocobo trainer. When a close inspection revealed that the instructor, a fairly large man, was already making his way across to her, the brunette returned to her customary position at the front of her squad and awaited his arrival as politeness required. Twenty paces until he reached the squad leader, recognition flickered on his face; her own eyes, she knew, widened in dismayed disbelief as she, too, identified the other.

Steiner.

A terrifying illness crawled up from her belly, only stopping to clutch at her despairing heart. Being a squad leader accounted for little authority or none at all when compared to even the lowly rank of second lieutenant. She pictured the lake that doubled as the castle's moat, the glass-like surface reflecting the Sword of Alexander, symbol of Alexandria's might and of the duty she was called to. This helped school her face to calmness so that even when a smile found its way onto her rival's own, even though this looked akin to a fang bearing its teeth, Beatrix did not waver.

He stopped a small distance from the group, examining Beatrix and her squad in the most disrespectful of ways, and began with, 'Welcome to Chocobo Training. I am Second Lieutenant Steiner and I shall be your riding instructor for the next month or so.'

A fleeting thought cut the void of her mind, _'A month! Why me…?'_

"I'm assuming this is Squad C?" his civil tone was belied by a taunting leer -- surely a trick of her eyes? Pride caused her to stay in silent refusal to meet his eyes for a moment too long and though he must have known she had no desire to speak with him, Steiner was determined to elicit an answer from her. "Beatrix?" he tried once more with all the usual degree of warmth in his deep voice.

A murmur rose amongst the soldiers standing by, the sound of large bumblebees humming, and it was only the pair's private conflicting that deflected any rebuke. But Beatrix eventually looked to him and narrowed her eyes, answering in a thankfully steady voice, "Yes, sir. This is Squad C," and though speaking was easier than she had first assessed, it took every ounce of her willpower to bring herself to salute, that most respectful of gestures. Steiner offered her a wry smile; Beatrix wanted to curl up and die.

Nodding his approval, the armoured one continued in a surprisingly normal tone, acting as if no venom had passed between them whatsoever. When he turned his eyes to the rest of the group, all talking ceased as abruptly as had their tongues disappeared. After giving them a brisk once-over, Steiner began his instructions.

"Now, the first step in becoming a proficient chocobo rider is learning how to mount your steed," someone sniggered at the obviousness of that statement. Steiner, glaring at her, replied with, "Then perhaps you'd like to demonstrate?"

The girl, who looked around Beatrix's age, grinned happily but rather shakily as she went about entering the pen and ascending a readily saddled chocobo. With an outraged _kweh!_ at being violated by this two-legged monstrosity, said bird flapped its way from her grip and joined its comrades, which had all fled to a corner in a desperate attempt to vacate the area.

"How are you called?" Steiner's voice was unexpected after all the giggling that had ensued. Ashamedly hanging her head, the embarrassing defeat weighing on her, the blonde answered with a simple, "Catherine." At his questioning glance, she added a belated, "Sir."

"Well, Catherine, while for now I have no desire to have words with you after today's lesson, in future you would do well to remember your place," all delivered in the flat tone of displeasure. Catherine nodded affirmation but once Steiner turned to the huddling chocobos, she puffed out her cheeks and gestured wildly in a fair imitation of the man. Beatrix subdued laughter threatening to escape from her squad and noted the woman's face. Whilst Steiner had little interest in the blonde, she very much wanted to speak with her.

"Well then? Begin!"

Squad C obediently approached the pens, babbling excitedly about the upcoming event; it seemed Beatrix was the only one _not_ enjoying this. Quietly surveying their relatively pitiful attempts -- being his first class as instructor, he was unsure whether it was entirely wise to let them have free reign but he surmised the best way of learning was by doing. -- surveying their attempts, Steiner was struck with one of his customary clever ideas. Simple yet certain to turn Beatrix from a 'hero' into a laughing-stock, the perfect form of humiliation, Steiner scanned the pen for a suitable minion to carry out his ingenious wishes. Upon selecting his tool of vengeance, Steiner eagerly approached Beatrix, confidence ballooning with every step until he was certain he must burst from pride. His victim had already picked out a bird and was trying unsuccessfully to lead it out of the pen ("The Eidolons take you, stubborn beast! I'd need behemoth's strength to move you!"). Steiner choked back a snicker.

"No, not that one," he told her, struggling to contain his mirth. At his most patronising, Steiner firmly grasped Beatrix's shoulders and steered the young woman over to the only chocobo to be separated from the rest of its flock. No. 237, 'Fluffy,' its shining badge proclaimed.

"Permission to speak plainly, sir?"

He raised an eyebrow, aware of the trouble he'd be inviting by granting her request. "As you wish," he allowed, studying her for and trickery.

"Any fool can see this chocobo is ill fit for riding," Beatrix indicated Fluffy.

Steiner restrained his eye from twitching. Fool, was he? She'd see who the fool was! Returning her glare, he said -- spat, "You're not disagreeing with a superior officer, are you?"

Beatrix quietly swore to herself that one of these days, it would be _she _who commanded _him, _though right now his gaze held so much loathing that she thought she must betray herself and look away. However, it was Steiner who backed off first as Fluffy squawked angrily and rammed into the tiny enclosure's gate, yellow feathers flying everywhere in an oddly comical manner. Rusty hinges squeaked defiance at the bird's escape efforts.

"No, sir." she replied, for once trying and failing completely to wipe the scowl from her face.

"Good. Now…" The second lieutenant turned to address the whole room, "It is quite easy, really. You simply put one foot in the stirrup, like so… and haul yourself up," the last was accompanied with a grunt as Steiner demonstrated. Being an adequate chocobo rider as it was, he managed to do so quite impressively. Once safely atop his steed, Steiner gestured for the others to do likewise.

Beatrix looked to Fluffy with apprehension. Breathing deeply, the hot-headed one steadily neared the chocobo, climbed the gate, dropped down into the enclosure…

"_K-Kweeh! _"

A flurry of feathers flew by her, the uncooperative Fluffy darting by before she laid a hand on its reins. Trying once more, the monster warbled furiously, flapping around as a wild animal may. The sudden ruckus drew the eyes of Squad C, most of whom had successfully ascended their birds, and Beatrix was made to endure the laughter of her own troops. Laughter that Steiner did naught to discourage.

Now plain mad, Beatrix sprung to her feet and made a running dash at the buttercup beast, clearly intent on proving she could do this. Fluffy took one look at the psychotic warrior and began running rings around the corral. Blunt refusal to ask Tin Man for assistance saw the brunette gallantly grapple with the crazy chocobo for the longest fifteen minutes of her life. Squad C continued watching on in bewilderment as the two chased each other around and around, alternating between hunter and hunted – they had yet to see something their commander couldn't do and this caused all manner of discussion. Off to one side, Steiner leant against the wooden walls of the corral, observing the scene with a stern disapproval that kept warring with amusement.

Unfortunately for Steiner, all good things must come to an end. The rampaging chocobo flung itself against its enclosure's gate multiple times, finally breaking it down despite the hinges' admirable protests. Thousands of wooden splinters were sent flying in a thousand different directions as Fluffy sprinted out of the enclosure, trampling Beatrix in mud and a substance that she did not wish to identify.

Rolling dazedly to her feet, Beatrix came face-to-face with Steiner. He spoke loud enough for the entire group to hear, "Fear not. It was my own fault, believing a rookie could handle such a fine specimen." And with a flourish of his hand, he added, "Please feel free to use my chocobo."

Squad C were silent, yet their bodies shook with suppressed laughter. Steiner's knight in shining armour act (though 'shining' was hardly a word befitting that rusting antique of his) had succeeded in humiliating her while elevating himself.

Beatrix angrily mounted Steiner's chocobo, swiping at her messy hair once more. Despite his steed being the most mild-mannered creature of all, Beatrix still managed to topple off in the most ungraceful manner. To her horror, the instructor came to rescue her yet again, suggesting that maybe he should lead the 'difficult bird,' which he did -- much to Beatrix's dismay. Sighing, the brunette made herself comfortable (or as comfortable as the un-cushioned saddle would allow) and contented herself with staring icily at her rival's back for the duration of the day's lesson.

'_It's going to be a long month…' _were the pair's identical thoughts.

* * *

"…an uncouth oaf, thinks far too highly of himself and most likely cannot tell one end of a sword from the other. He's simply…!"

"Infuriating?" offered Catherine.

Beatrix nodded vehemently, "Infuriating!"

The cloudless sky with its bright orb of a sun beaming down on the Waterfall City made a stark contrast to Beatrix's face, which displayed a saddened expression akin to the crinkles of un-ironed clothing. Even the newest addition to her uniform, two stripes of royal blue atop her shoulder, couldn't sway her mood. Not only had it taken hours to scrub the chocobo smell from her skin, Steiner had advanced to lieutenant once again

A merchant directly beside them announced, "Three for a gil!" In return for the bellow he directed into her ear, Beatrix spared him a withering glance before continuing on her way.

The morning had brought about no new instructions, so Beatrix and her friend had taken the opportunity to visit town, a luxury most could not afford. But now the sun declared noon and it was past time they returned; in light of her recent promotion, Beatrix was interviewing potential archers and watch tower guards. Archery had been stressed throughout basic training to the point that Beatrix, having before then never nocked an arrow, had become rather good, though she was still unsure she could gain the new recruits' respect.

They took the boat ride across the lake together and then Catherine bade her farewell ("Do try not to cause too much trouble.") Beatrix arrived at the archery range just as students began trickling in, excited clusters anticipating today's tasks. A brisk order saw them line up where Beatrix counted her student's, awaited the rest of them, counted again… Anxiety hatching in her belly as starting time loomed closer, the brunette quietened her nerves.

When she reached the end of the row for what seemed like the umpteenth time -- yes, they were all there; there was nothing wrong with her grasp on numbers -- she spoke to the uncertain group, "As you well know, it is required that all military units learn how to properly use a bow and arrow. For those of you who don't know me, I am Second Lieutenant Beatrix. You are here because you believe yourselves skilled in this art. That is for me to decide and the best way of convincing me is by doing. Actions speak louder than words.

"Well then? Pick up your bows," and to Beatrix's everlasting surprise -- no, she wasn't amazed; of course she was a commanding presence! -- the women obliged. Of the seventeen candidates, Beatrix mentally made a red mark beside two, whose grips were horrendous to say the least. Still, they could prove adequate.

At her instruction, the trainees soon corrected their flaws and the commander returned to the front. Bending over, she picked up a quiver of arrows and swung it onto her back.

Beatrix dug deep into her quiver and produced a metal-tipped arrow. She demonstrated how to load the bow, warned against any accidents that may befall them as a result of waving their weapons around. And just then, the relative quiet was broken by the terrible grating sound of metal against metal as Adelbert Steiner rounded the corner, his Pluto Knights cronies in tow.

Disbelief turned his expression sour. Stalking towards her, Steiner yelled, "Beatrix! I clearly stated _I_ was to use the archery range today!" He rumbled loud enough for his voice to carry to Lindblum and back.

The brunette grimaced at the lack of title he gave her and she made a show of not rushing to meet him; rather, she casually strolled over, letting him exert himself. "I have selections to make, Master Steiner," she endured to explain upon reaching him, "whether you approve or otherwise."

Those coals of eyes of his reflected understanding. Beatrix blinked at the quivering finger that was suddenly thrust in her face as Steiner sighed resignation. "Then I shall tolerate your presence as I must," he grumbled, his other hand itching for a non-existent weapon at his hip.

Beatrix sniffed. "Now, wait here. I have to prepare my soldiers for the invasion."

Leaving Steiner glaring after her, Beatrix returned to her protégés, "Master Steiner has graciously offered his aid for this next demonstration. Observe well, for this is the skill I require from you."

_Thung! Thwack! _The arrow shot by, and before Steiner could say 'chocobo,' it had firmly lodged itself in his head! Falling onto his behind, the absurd thought that he had never expected to die like this crossed his mind, betrayed and slaughtered by a fellow Alexandrian.

Slowly, when his senses returned, he could make out horrible giggling and the just as horrible consolation being offered by his fellow Knights of Pluto. He felt one of them -- Laudo? -- tugging at his helmet and when the item was pulled free, Steiner could clearly see the arrow buried in its steel, dinting the headgear to perfection. What on Gaia…? Blinking seemed to help clear the monochrome blotches from his vision.

Regaining his composure, the angered knight stormed over to Beatrix, his hand flying over his shoulder to find his broadsword. "Fool, chit of a girl! Do you want me dead?"

Beatrix raised an eyebrow; Steiner slowly dropped his hand. "Don't answer that…" he mumbled, though his eyes burned molten fury at this newest ridicule. Upon seeing the rest of the group hadn't stopped laughing, he exclaimed, "And all of you are on a right path to the gallows if you keep this up!" Not exactly true, yet the threat worked.

"Apologies, Master Steiner. I was under the impression you knew better than to stand in front of my target."

"In front of your target? I _am_ your target! And through no fault of my own, I might add!"

"These are only fresh cadets," Beatrix informed him, indicating the bright-eyed bunch with an unnecassary flourish. "They required a demonstration of how to properly loose arrows."

Wordlessly, Steiner snatched the bow from her and his other hand sought a projectile from her quiver. Another eyebrow arched questioningly -- at his actions or at the close proximity he placed them in by doing so? -- but Beatrix made no move to stop him. And with the fluidness that comes with well-practiced actions, Steiner took aim, fired and landed a perfect bullseye. Polite applause arose from the onlookers. The Lieutenant turned to smile at his rival, who nodded thoughtfully.

"Impressive, Master Steiner, although I have already demonstrated such prowess. I fear these soldiers would benefit from a display of… what not to do. Would you be so kind?" The last had the feel of a command more than a request.

"I most certainly will not, and if you continue in this manner I'll have you for insubordination. I fear this is merely jealousy talking."

"Me, jealous of _you? _Don't flatter yourself."

"Well, I believe it is so. Why else would you want me to fire a shot worse than your own?"

A small frown found its way onto Beatrix's face but she did not counter his slur with words. Instead, she plucked the bow from his hand and whipped out an arrow. Lining it up with the target, the brunette let loose and, to Steiner's everlasting consternation, Beatrix's arrow landed right in the centre of the target, splitting his own arrow in two. The cadets cheered their officer on, filled with pride, mirth and excitement.

Tossing her hair, Beatrix faced Steiner where he was standing, mouth agape, wondering where exactly his arrow had vanished to. All that remained of the shaft was a few sad splinters and the arrowhead was absent altogether. The brunette leant in and lowered her voice so as only he would hear, "Consider this your comeuppance, your penance for yesterday and for just now addressing me as you did, _Master_ Steiner."

His mouth twisted in contempt but it was to the people behind him that he said, "Attention! Back to training, you lot!"

"Aye, Lieutenant!"

He watched them go before returning to the problem at hand. "Now see here. I did not ask for you as an enemy --"

"Nor as a friend," Beatrix interjected quietly, making Steiner's face tighten in frustration.

"If you weren't so confrontational, I may have changed my mind, yet you prove yourself to be nothing but a conceited little girl with dreams of becoming another Madelene." All delivered in what he was proud to call an even tone. He sighed. "I tire of this. Perhaps we'll share words when you grow up, my _Lady_."

Too stunned to retort, the apology that had been forming on her lips all but dead, Beatrix watched Steiner leave, stomping his way across the grass. Perhaps -- _perhaps_ -- she had taken matters too far this time. However, that did nothing to excuse his rude behaviour. Beatrix privately promised never to spare him her sympathy again.

Glancing at Steiner**'**s own men whom he'd left behind (_'How dare he burden me with his chores?'_) Beatrix returned to her evaluation.

Never again.

* * *

**Notes on the Chapter:**

- Before I edited this I wrote chocobo noises as _wark_ by accident. Oops.


	3. II: Riding the Gale

**Chapter II**  
_**Riding the Gale**_

_**

* * *

**_'_Seeing her walk is like watching a Qu waddling along…'_ Steiner mused, chewing thoughtfully on his favourite delicacy, gyshal pickles. Qu's were odd-looking creatures. Their bodies were too big for their short, stubby legs and they looked as if they would overbalance and teeter to the ground at any given moment. Right now, thanks to an abundance of long hours spent in the unforgiving chocobo saddle that was just what Beatrix looked like. Supposedly, she found solace in the fact that she was not alone in her agony: the majority of Squad C had been whinging about aching legs and rumps for some time now. Steiner had come to the end of his tether more than once regarding these complaints, each of which he met with the same explanation of, "Think of it as character building."

Enjoying the vinegary tang in his mouth, the Lieutenant regarded Beatrix with exaggerated interest, causing her to shoot back a glare carrying all of winter's chill. He suppressed a yawn -- making sure nobody in particular killed themselves whilst atop a chocobo was tiring work -- but despite his fatigue he effected returning the gesture with double the intensity (which, he feared, looked utterly ridiculous thanks to his bloated mouth). Her insistent provocation was unwelcome, especially considering his discontent at months of trying to execute Darkside, which was proving an impossible task. No matter how he focused his energy, attempting the attack seemed futile as chasing storm clouds. Taking into account the recent spout of atypically chilly weather, this was an activity that those foolish enough could undertake. Autumn had truly set in and was behaving like more than a mere herald to winter: windy gusts cut through clothing to leave a person chilled to the marrow and they'd suffered heavy rains these past few days. Steiner hoped that winter would not be any worse.

Pulling his cloak around him (one of an officer's perks) he attempted to sink into the velvet-covered chair his form was occupying in the library.

"Don't look now," Laudo, his companion for this evening, began, eyes swivelling in Beatrix's direction. Steiner waved away his friend's qualms and kept reading. His discourtesy didn't faze her; the girl was likely used to it by now.

"Steiner," she greeted and he was startled at the omittance of a preceding 'Master.' One hand pushed ever-troublesome hair out of her eyes whilst the other passed him two items. Steiner made a show of nonchalance when taking the proffered things. Turning the one, a crisp parchment, in his own gauntleted hands, eyes running over the Winged Sword of house Alexandros etched into still-warm wax -- Beatrix must've ran to get this to him -- Steiner graced her with his best puzzled face. She was already taking her leave, halfway out the door when he deemed it necessary to look to her. Brows furrowing, the armoured one thumbed open the seal and scanned through the text:

_15-10-1789_

_Lieutenant Adelbert Steiner,_

_By command of __**Her Majesty Queen Brahne Til Alexandros IV**__, Blessed Under the Eidolons, Defender of the Waterfall City, you are instructed as follows. When first sounds on the morrow of the day you receive this, you are to board the usual cargo ship to Lindblum. Upon arrival, seek out the tavern named The Doom Pub. There, you will contact an informant who shall bestow on you further directions. By undertaking this mission, you agree to share the aforementioned with none other than those absolutely necessary, though you may consult the appointed commander. _

_Herwin Klein_

_Captain of the Knights of Pluto_

_Guardian of the Blood_

The other artefact, an unadorned leather pouch, yielded coins of various make, enough to see to food, bedding and other necessities.

"Well?" Laudo questioned, his easy voice pulling Steiner from his musings. If Laudo had abandoned his book in favour of talking, Steiner surmised he'd been staring at his orders blankly for far too long. Smiling, he replied, "Nothing of importance," and returned to _Cherry Blossoms_. The rather cryptic answer seemed to satisfy the other, for he made no move to interrogate Steiner further.

What exactly the 'nothing of importance' encompassed, Steiner had no knowledge of aside from the paper he tucked behind his glove. Something concerning the recent skirmishes outside Dali? Troubling as it was, Queen Brahne was no fool and the Alexandrian Military was served by the two best tactical advisors alive -- much as he hated Madelene, he was not blind to talent. True, Dali appeared naught but a farming village at a passing glance, yet even the simplest minded of folk could comprehend Dali's significance in providing Alexandria with much of her foodstuff. As such, it was hardly guard-deficient…

So, not Dali, then. This plan was… offensive?

But that made no sense -- while Adelbert Steiner was ready to die for his country, surely it knew he wasn't the wisest choice for a behind enemy lines expedition. Covert operations hadn't interested him and his resulting lack of training in the matter surely eliminated him as a choice. If they fancied a scout, they should've picked Blutzen or… or Kohel.

'_What madness is this?' _Mother Nature punctuated the thought by sending a jagged snake of light across the sky.

"Ah, Lieutenant?"

Realising he'd again been gazing into nothingness, Steiner looked up to find Laudo studying him over the top of his well-worn paperback collection of poetry. He quirked an eyebrow at the younger knight's half-started query, inviting the inevitable question.

It came in the form of, "You do realise food isn't allowed in here?"

Blinking, Steiner glanced at the jar of pickles sitting innocently on his lap before snatching it up to make a hasty retreat. Much grief would be inflicted if the librarians noticed he'd broken their golden rule. Though, he noted, after his run-in with Beatrix the other day, 'No Phoney Orders from Commanding Officers' had probably taken priority. Have him search all the books entitled _Alexandria_, would she? That nasty little blue thing he'd found in one had bestowed on him the gift of thousands of paper cuts before leaving him in a burning haze of unconsciouness.

Steiner's ears heated at the recollection.

He checked the parchment again… for authenticity.

* * *

Flash of lightning; thunderous scream. Thor was at his anvil again.

'_Who could sleep with that as her lullaby?'_ Beatrix wondered, sidestepping what truly had her awake at this hour. At least she'd had the grace to retire to her quarters and raise a façade of indulging in sleep. Knowing herself as only she could, Beatrix hadn't believed she'd take a rest. Instead, after re-reading the orders until each letter was seared into memory she'd started counting out the gil she'd received, stacking it neatly on her bedside table, the piles arranged in height order. Steam rising from a pitcher of warm apple cider, perfect on a night like this, had gradually declined. No wispy tendrils rose from its depths anymore.

Perching on the edge of a standard-issue bed, she'd taken to cleaning her silver sword, the one she'd purchased after creating a crack in her old long sword. Exploiting the power of Thunder Slash had been an ill-thought action, never mind General Madelene's prompting that she was well capable of handling it.

On the bright side, the silver sword _was_ a finer weapon and whatever imperfections had remained from the day's working of the forms had long been scrubbed out. Now the thin blade gave off an ethereal glow, shimmering in lunar light. Runic inscriptions at its base -- _Wolf's Bane, _accompanied by the phases of the moon curving around the hilt -- seemed to burn in the dark, which thanks to the electrical storm was not absolute.

A knock at her door startled Beatrix from her ministrations.

"Enter," she called, standing.

Yellow hair announced Catherine's presence before the woman's head fully materialised. Her customary bright smile faded as jade eyes lighted upon Beatrix's stance, "Antlion Guards the Den?"

Face colouring, Beatrix lowered the sword she'd carried with her and exhaled. "My apologies," she managed, gesturing for her friend to take a seat.

"And what, pray, has you on edge this fine evening?"

"Thunder," lied Beatrix, "always makes me uneasy."

"I understand. As a child, I always sought my mother at such times," Catherine said, accepting the proffered chair. Beatrix silently returned to her work, her unoccupied hand clenching round the bedcovers. Then, Catherine's faux pas becoming clear to her, "I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?"

Beatrix looked to the other, trying to quieten emotions that still persisted over the loss. Though she never enjoyed talking about death, the brunette felt Catherine deserved some explanation. "She died, long ago," she said clearly, as if speaking with confidence would banish the thick globs congregating in her throat.

"And your father?" the other ventured.

"In a squalid tavern, drinking his way to Asgard. Or the Underworld."

"I am sorry," Catherine said, and her tone rang with sincerity.

"No need. My grief passed long ago." Allowing her expression to soften, Beatrix added, "Though I appreciate your concern."

Catherine grinned, white teeth winking in night's gloom. "Such a hard woman! Funny how formless thunder stays your sleep."

This time, Beatrix dodged her friend's eyes. Piercing as they were, she feared Catherine would read the deceit in her own twin blue ones. For a time, there was only the noise of cloth travelling the length of the silver sword broken by intermittent thunderclaps.

A sigh, "Beatrix, what ails you?"

"…"

"You're awfully quiet, you know."

"What weighs on my mind is none of your concern!" she snapped in an uncharacteristic flare of anger, immediately wishing she hadn't.

"…You're right; it isn't," Catherine rose to leave. Beatrix stood with her, reached out to lay a hand on her comrade's arm as she murmured half-finished requests for forgiveness. However, being sworn to secrecy left small room for her to manoeuvre and the brunette resigned herself to telling as much as she dared risk. "I cannot explain myself. Only… Only, know that duty bears down on me like a mountain and if I were to stray a single step, it would crush me." She could feel her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she paused, awaiting Catherine's assessment.

'_I have already betrayed Alexandria by admitting so much,' _Beatrix privately lamented, wishing she were stronger. Of hundreds of better contenders, it was a miracle and honour that Madelene wanted Beatrix for this task. Had the responsibility ended there, she believed she'd have coped. Typically, that was not to be.

Why was Steiner part of this?

And, more importantly, why had Madelene declared _Beatrix_ commander?

Beatrix was sorry she'd ever wished to be his superior. And she was still puzzling out whether not letting him know earlier was a wise thing to do, or rather, an omittance that would, come tomorrow, have him up in arms -- literally.

To her undying mortification, having little-to-no experience in such missions necessitated a heavy reliance on Steiner for guidance. Certainly, she could deal with him in hostile situations, could stay quietly confident and address him with all the respect his position required (whether she thought he deserved it or not being irrelevant) while still dishing out his just deserts. But how in Alexander's good name could she ask him to aid her? That was, if he even bothered responding to her once he learned she was in charge.

"Beatrix?"

If he didn't kill her first.

"Beatrix?"

Said knight snapped out of her reverie, met Catherine's gaze.

"I said don't speak like that. It doesn't become you."

The orders, stamped with Madelene's Crimson Rose, didn't lie. There was no escaping it.

'_I'll just have to be nice to him,' _she realised. How dismal!

They shared a smile and a quick hug. "Good luck," the blonde whispered, arms tightening around Beatrix until it hurt. "Don't be gone long. Steiner will be back to ranting if you leave us for too long."

Between hugs, Beatrix was glad her expression was hidden. Her fear must have been plain on her face.

* * *

When the tower's bell announced dawn the next morning, it was almost drowned out by the perpetual drumming of raindrops -- if Steiner hadn't been waiting on it, he might have missed it altogether. It was in this downpour that the Lieutenant blundered across the courtyard, heavy cloak wrapped firmly around his body to keep out the cold and wet. An errant gust of wind blew back his cowl and, scowling, he fumbled to right it. The last thing he needed was a rusty helmet, especially after all that polishing he'd suffered.

Sometime last night, Laudo had guessed he'd taken a mission -- and how exactly the man had done it considering Steiner's careful concealing of the issue was beyond him -- and had remarked on how it was the perfect opportunity for earning a promotion. Of course, Steiner had dismissed his prattling as ill-informed and irrelevant but privately the notion cheered him. Now the occasion to one-up Beatrix had presented itself and with no chance of harm coming to her by means of this one-upping (hence, no excuse on her part for retaliation), despite the miserable weather and the tiny part of him that contained apprehension, Steiner's spirits were high.

He paused to let one of the Gate Watch scan his orders -- no one was allowed to leave or enter Alexandria during the period of after last and before first without authorisation -- and then continued across the river via the numerous stone bridges place there. Outside the cargo ship, a huge, unnatural silhouette that stood out against the treeless plateau, there waited a pair of people, each a black blob in the early morning darkness.

Reaching them, Steiner performed a salute that was carefully directed to neither shape. Being no owl, it was impossible to work out who the commander was and he wasn't about to run the risk of insulting him by failing to offer respect to the right person.

If either said a word, it was overcome by the insistent rain. They both turned to climb the boarding ramp and Steiner, not wanting to seem incompetent and fearing the absence of even an acknowledging nod hinted at disapproval, didn't hesitate before following. Upon entering the belly of the vessel where he was blessedly safe from the storm, gathering his wits, he announced, "Lieutenant Adelbert Steiner of the Knights of Pluto, reporting for duty, sir." Though the commander's back was turned, Steiner graced him with another salute, just to adhere to protocol.

"Ma'am," he corrected in a rather feminine voice and pushed back the hood to uncover Beatrix's head.

"Gagh!" Steiner cried -- not strictly a word, though it well conveyed his surprise -- and promptly clattered into a pile of tools.

Rope that had lain dormant now sprung to life as Steiner flailed his limbs wildly, trying to shake off tendrils of long-forgotten fiends fusing his two legs. Tugging at the wrong thing to tug at, the hapless knight soon found himself in a tangled heap of monkey wrench and cloak and arms and, ouch, was that a nail? Unsure which words were proper in such circumstances, he contented himself with a noncommittal, "You!"

"Indeed," Beatrix agreed.

Disengaging his body from the mess, he blurted, "I'm to cooperate with _you?_"

"It's a pleasure to work with you, too, Steiner," she quipped but interestingly enough offered him a hand. His visions of grandeur melted like peppermint ice-cream left unattended on a hot day. Without the possibility he'd be raised a major to spur him on, all the trepidation he'd felt earlier swamped back tenfold. His resultant foul mood made Steiner bat away her concern.

Beatrix frowned, "I see," and withdrew her hand.

But she didn't see at all, did she? All her cockiness considered, Beatrix hadn't a fear in the world while the knot in Steiner's belly tightened until anxiety paralysed him, a malboro's tentacles squeezing out all his goodness. It was always like that. Even more so, now he was under orders he had no idea how to carry out, with company worse than an abomination (but thankfully better smelling. Er, not that he'd ever _smelled_ her…)

With the help of the other person, who introduced himself as Captain Highwind, everything returned to its proper place and afterwards, the two knights were shown to their room. Informing them the journey would take an hour or so, maybe more considering the state of weather, the Captain left a tallow candle on the poor excuse for a table and left them to their devices.

Steiner took in the area, which was far smaller than he was accustomed to. There was that table, a chair and two beds (and thank the Eidolons for that! Steiner didn't much fancy sleeping on the floor.) A port hole served as a window to the outside world but it was cracked and age had turned the glass the brown of dirty water or slug innards, the colour of Lieutenant Steiner, you screwed up _again._ This made the image skewed, off-tilt. As the airship lurched into flight, Steiner watched a horribly wrong reflection of his home fall away, shrinking till it was a little cluster of houses and stalls.

Sparing a sidelong glance at Beatrix, he noted the avidness with which she stared through the dirty window pane and for a moment, her fascination chased away the anger he harboured. "You've never done this before?" he found himself asking and she jumped at the interruption. Realising he was being unclear -- words had never been Steiner's strong point -- he expanded, "Have you never ridden an airship?"

Continuing her inspection, she replied, "I'm more world-wise than you may think, Steiner." Wariness decorated her tone.

Steiner sighed. Did there always have to be some ulterior motive to his kindness? He tried again as he sat, hoping to dispel her distrust, "I meant… I meant -- It's just, well, you seem so interested in flying…"

She turned her scrutiny on him, pinning him to the spot. "Go to sleep, Steiner," she said, and this time it was definitely a command.

'_So this is what is gained through being nice to you,' _Steiner thought at her, not venturing to say it aloud and have her explode in his face in a more painful manner than a bomb's kamikaze. No wonder he'd never tried the diplomatic approach before. It didn't work. Actually, it failed with enthusiasm, all thanks to a waspish tongue, a sharper sword and annoyingly flippy hair i.e. Beatrix.

He'd be damned if he let down his guard around someone who wouldn't even call him 'Master Steiner' anymore.

Getting to his feet, Steiner put as much sarcasm into his salute as he could and in a rare show of selfishness left the room. So, he was forced into taking orders from her. That didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

In fact, he was determined not to.

* * *

It had been a while since she'd watched the sun rise: the largest orange she'd ever seen, except it was rather non-edible and burning up and all. The storm might have taken offence at her believing it not scary because it had picked up strength, tossing the ship around, making her stomach take an impromptu course in the joys of being caught in a whirlpool of bodily fluids. Items that hadn't been properly stowed kept rolling around on deck in a cacophony of _ka-chunks_ and _bizzt_-es and, if she was fortunate, the occasional _whirr_. And as for the cramped bedchamber, it was only bearable because Steiner had indefinitely moved out. She surmised her roommate of five minutes believed her bad luck or just an annoyance because he'd made no sign at returning. Beatrix certainly hadn't gone after him. Let the man catch cold if he wanted but she'd be damned if she let him speak in such disrespectful tones with her. That deep baritone voice, prying into her affairs, mocking her because she hadn't been on an airship before.

Well, that _was_ a fine assumption. If it was true. Which it wasn't.

At least he hadn't tried usurping her command. Yet, Beatrix's pride forbade her from being grateful for that.

Lindblum was creeping closer, no longer resting against the horizon, telling her it was time to get down to business. Opening the sack of clothing she'd brought with her, Beatrix disrobed and began pulling on the dress, her disguise: a horrendous purple affair cut in Treno style (that was, exposing far too much cleavage). Throughout the process, her foot got jammed in the overly-frilly hem and she hopped around, trying to regain ever-elusive balance.

'…_Marvellous…'_

Whilst trying to sort out where she began and the dress ended, Beatrix's hip -- and she'd always hated her big hips, what with their habit of interrupting at the most inopportune moments -- her hip connected with the table. The disruption had enough force behind it that despite desperate attempts, the candle tumbled off. It landed on the ground, wick just close enough to set her costume alight.

_Woosh! _

Spaghetti smoke drifted from the lacy trim before it erupted in fire, starving flames -- starving, for considering the eager way they were devouring her dress they were more than simply hungry -- consuming her garments quicker than Steiner would gobble a pickle. Smoke was born at an alarming rate. Beatrix managed half a yelp before it was rudely pushed back down her throat by fumes. Falling to hands and knees, coughing as Steiner called her name, the brunette reached for the doorknob and fresh air.

"Beatrix? I'm coming in," he warned, swinging the door open.

When he recovered from smoke inhalation, for a moment he just blinked at the sight of a half-decent Beatrix on her knees, outstretched hand beckoning him. A pink blush that might've just been from the heat crept onto her face but he had no time to contemplate the abundance of her personality quirks because there was the insignificant matter of the raging inferno before him.

She snatched her hand back abruptly.

Steiner began waving his own arms wildly until she told him to "Stop fanning the blasted thing!" and then ran to get help. After throwing buckets of water around until the last flame had been doused, they sat together, panting on the deck: she with her eyes shining with the dazedness of a busted light-globe in a soot-darkened face; he unceremoniously on his behind, wiping perspiration that clung like spandex off his brow, the singed feather in his hat drooping mournfully. And for a while, they just remained that way, hearts beating and chests rising and falling not to live, just because it passed time.

Eventually, it occurred to Steiner that Beatrix was still in her shift and a very well-done dress (which, he corrected, she was practically _not_ in at all). And the fact wasn't lost on Beatrix either because she drew her knees up to her chest. Steiner knew it wasn't because she was afraid. Her eyes were clear sapphires again and she was looking at _him_.

Pushing wayward hair back into its place, Beatrix quietly said, "Would you please leave me and my clothing," and her voice was as far from questioning as it could be.

Steiner peered at the metropolis looming around them; he hadn't realised they'd passed the grotesque architechture of the Falcon Gate. He wanted to tell her to hurry, that they'd arrived, that the mission was truly beginning now and to _put some goddamn clothes on!_ He wanted to. But this Beatrix made such a pitiful attempt at even _looking_ like his rival that he could only do as she said. He left her alone again.

And he was right.

Steiner didn't enjoy obeying Beatrix. Not one bit.

* * *

Getting by security was easy with the help of identification papers she'd been supplied, allegedly authentic ones swindled by some bounty hunter looking for easy gil. With the Lindblum Wars reaching their climax, Alexandrians were especially unwelcome in the Regent's lands, so assuming false personas had been necessary. Reassurances that the disguises would work still hadn't stopped Beatrix sending 'Stewart' in first. (He'd gone with a, "Beware, this place is very large. Don't lose yourself." As if she was _that_ poor with directions!) Using Steiner as her test subject meant if there was anything glaringly obvious with the ID, she would be forewarned.

At least she'd troubled herself with explaining their mission in complete detail; Tin Man could thank her for that. And at least, though it was still cold enough to freeze Esto Gaza three times over, the clouds had stopped dousing the world in water drops.

Besides, after what happened on the cargo ship, the lieutenant was begging for an arresting. The _indecency_ of it, like snatching the last strawberry-crowned cupcake and licking all the cream off your fingers while the other party-goers stare sullenly, only with a good dose of embarrassment to boot. If Adelbert Steiner wanted to stare down at her all-but-bare breasts as she lay helpless on the floor of a burning cabin -- her face warmed -- then execution via beheading was the least painful way for him to go.

Never mind he'd rescued her. Heavens, now she _owed_ him! That was worse than finding a cactuar in your underwear drawer. The man may as well lock a collar round her neck because she was just waiting for him to tug at the leash.

Admittedly, only Steiner himself came close to describing the situation: 'Gagh!'

Gagh, she concluded, summed it up rather well.

Seeing the big knight, who had donned some nondescript browns (pants, shirt, jacket and a cap that kept his hair out of sight) duck into an alleyway, Beatrix let the crowd carry her in his direction. It proved a rather dangerous escapade: the slippery state of still rain-soaked paving paired with a jostling crowd ensured every step she took had potential for a sprained ankle. Yes, the joys of being short were endless.

"Do you know where this tavern is?" was his first concern as she was spewed into the side street.

"Up there," she said tersely, gesturing in the vague direction of anywhere in Lindblum.

Steiner met this reply with a frown and said, "Then you'll have to lead."

Beatrix cocked an eyebrow but he was either too stupid or too stubborn to add 'ma'am.' Letting out a long-suffering sigh, the brunette stepped back into the surging mass of bodies and fought her way upstream. She'd been told the Festival of the Hunt attracted oodles of people but this was more like mega-oodles. But, she supposed as she followed the street's sudden curve, they had more chance slipping in with this major tourist influx and, more importantly, of getting back out again.

Rounding the bend, Beatrix spied a well-kept sign where it hung from a large stone building. The yellow winged devil with a singular eye it depicted proclaimed the structure The Doom Pub. Just as it had been last she was here, except for one thing. Today, according the dusty blackboard, the special was Petrify Pudding.

The high-ceilinged roof kept the common room, which was full even at this hour, free of pipe smoke. All the tables seemed occupied, steaming jugs of cider or ale queued up on the counter as serving girls rushed to deliver them while evading pinches and leers from the more unsavoury customers. Flames dancing in the fireplace were providing extra warmth and coupled with the growing number of patrons this made for a toasty place. Feeling came back to her digits in that aching yet liberating way.

There was a man seated alone at a table in the corner of the room beside a Bobo bird statue -- those things were becoming popular everywhere. Beatrix hated the ugly things. She didn't believe in luck. He had chosen a position from where he could observe everything without being watched himself and he did so, puffing on a pipe. The ridiculous moustaches he sported hid his mouth entirely so as the slender tube looked to be an extension of his chin, or an extremely odd second nose. Nestled between his mug and a leather pouch was a blood red rose.

Beatrix approached him and at his beckoning, took the chair opposite him. Steiner's stance seemed to alter just enough to be called Bandersnatch Stalks the Tall Grass and he looked like he'd refuse a seat. In the end, he sat but he had the air of one ready to draw hidden daggers.

The other man just watched them, sending up little ringlets of haze for a time. Beatrix got the distinct impression she was being priced for market in addition to the weighing and measuring his brown eyes did. She was about to say something -- she wasn't sure what; his scrutiny left her mouth dry -- when he said, "I'll not ask your names, nor will I give you mine. That's the first lesson, is it not? The less you know, the safer you are, I mean." He refilled his cup then, waving a serving girl over for extras before pouring for both of them. Steiner sniffed at the liquid far too discreetly but had the sense not to touch it, even when the other man drank deeply from his own.

Beatrix glanced pointedly at the parcel between them, "This is what I came for?" There was little chance they'd be overheard amidst the raucous laughter, the _chink _of gil changing hands and the guitarist and the apple-cheeked girl singing to a melody: _"You were always there in the corner / Of this tiny little bar."_

"That's the one. I fear anything else you learn here, you'll have to commit to memory," he said. all whiskers and cryptic knowingness.

"If you withhold anything," Steiner began, half-rising.

The other raised his hands, "I have nothing to hide, except from scoundrels."

Steiner scowled. "Be still," Beatrix told him and not pausing to hear his protests, turned back to their companion. "What would you have us know?"

Lacing his fingers together, he said, "Regent Cid's plans have changed since your Queen's last inquiry. He no longer desires to rule Alexandria, only to crush her forever." A nod towards the package, "In there, you will find copies of the Hilda Garde's blueprints. I have made annotations regarding the airship's weak points but Cid is no fool when it comes to machinery. He might amend these before they are produced. After developing the first Mist-powered airship, Cid believes he has finally perfected it.

"If Alexandria is to stand, she must prepare her defences now. Cid puts everything towards this battle, making it the deciding fight. With Lindblum's technology, I wager six months until the prototype is complete."

Beatrix caught Steiner's muttered, "Only six…" and was surprised he, the man with so much ego he thought he could defend a city on his own, was worried.

"And now I bid you farewell and good luck." With those departing words, the tall man left.

Steiner folded the blueprints, stowing them in his inner coat pocket. "A red rose," he murmured. "Very droll."

"Come," she said, avoiding asking clarification on the matter, "We must return to Alexandria at once."

* * *

After he'd carefully explained that the airship wasn't returning till later that night, after he'd told you should _not_ go wandering the streets in these crowds and you cannot visit the airship construction yard and heavens no, you _must not_ participate in the Hunt, Beatrix are you listening?-- he said this with the long-suffering patience of a mother telling her child that if you stick your hand in an ochu's mouth you'd better hope you were ambi-dexterous -- he found himself trailing after her, out of The Doom Pub and into the street. Beatrix paused there as if considering which direction to venture in first.

As they waited, Steiner inwardly grumbled, _'So, Beatrix, what would you like me to save you from today? …Legions of Lindblumese with their thousands of pointy little sticks ready to impale me? …What a splendid idea!'_

He was certain after today he wouldn't have any sarcasm left in him.

As they stood there, stumbling from the inn came a girl with browny-red hair, a contester for the Hunt judging by the huge cleaver accompanying her. After shaking a fist and bellowing, "The stupid fuzzball had it comin'!" the girl turned away before crashing into Beatrix with a grunt. A string of curses that would make the most potty-mouthed pirate blush came from the aggressor's mouth.

"Ah, I'm terribly sorry," Beatrix began.

"And I'm terribly angry!" the other yelled, shoving her face in Beatrix's to shower her with spittle, her mouth emitting such a pungent odour of rotting meat that Steiner, from his distance, could distinctly discern. She hefted her weapon, "Downright pissed off, really. And you, missy, are _in_ _my_ _way!_"

"Who's this overbearing ruffian?" he asked, not really expecting a reply.

The red-head spared Steiner a glance, then looked back to Beatrix, contemplating. He stepped forward, deliberate footfalls that he meant to be intimidating and then pushed past Beatrix to grab their antagonist by the shirt, heedless of the weapon she still held.

"Le' go!" Copperish-Red-Head demanded, struggling for all she was worth. And Steiner did; he half-threw her away, axe and all. The hunter bared teeth, yellowed with scraps of rotting meat embedded in the gums, and leapt at him.

Everything happened so fast -- and Steiner had never been quick at thinking.

What he did know was that she reeked of old alcohol. And was, regrettably, rather talented with her butcher's tool, for she wielded it with such familiarity that he was hard pressed to both avoid her swings and keep her away from Beatrix -- even irritating women didn't deserve to be caught in street brawls. And he remembered the way the crowd parted around them, and then the shrill whistles announcing the presence of Lindblum's Guard, which were patrolling in a very cautious manner thanks to the Hunt.

The girl's eyes widened at the sound and she swung her weapon over her shoulders, straightening. "See ya next round," she sneered before shoving her way through the crowd. An instant later, she was out of sight altogether, lost in an ocean of nameless faces.

"You know," Beatrix informed him, "you could have just loomed a little." She had a dagger out but it was uncoloured, indicating she either hadn't managed to get in a strike or had been reluctant to do so. The commander didn't want to pull her weight? Fine with him.

"My pleasure," he said.

"Make way! Out of the way!"

The crowd parted to admit three armoured men, all holding lances, their helmets' face bars obscuring their visages. "What's happening here?" one asked, just as another cried, "Ho! How comes a dagger here?"

Beatrix looked from the soldiers to the blade in her hand and concealed it up her sleeve again.

"Good sirs," Steiner began, aware that if you did no wrong to law enforcement they would aid you, "my wife and I were just set upon by some ragamuffin girl who made an attempt on my life --"

"Can't you see how distraught he is!" Beatrix cut in. "We came to see the Hunt, not to have our gil swindled."

"Distraught?" the officer in brown and white queried with skepticism.

"Very!" Steiner pressed, sounding anything but.

"And when he gets in these states, nothing good will come of it for weeks." Steiner gave her a sharp glance at that.

One of the soldiers turned to his commanding officer, "Shall we go search for her, sir?"

"…Yes."

After drawing a description of the perepertrator from Beatrix, they had scurried off to find the girl -- a seriously impossible task in a city of Lindblum's size with only two people pitted against an experienced sneak. The officer then removed his helmet to regard them better. Tufted ears and an elongated nose were revealed, along with the other furry features marking a Burmecian. His sad grey eyes connected with Steiner's for a moment, then moved to Beatrix. "And how comes it," said he, in a quiet yet confident voice, "that a peasant and a noble are wedded?"

Steiner blinked, looked from his outfit to Beatrix's and understood what piqued the Burmecian's suspicion. Maybe they were both too stunned, their secret being brushed upon acting like someone had snuffed out the flames powering their wits, because they didn't offer justifications and the officer asked, "May I see your identification papers?"

Steiner reached into the pouch he reserved for such things.

It was already open.

Swallowing, he dared peek inside. Sure enough, he was not only sans gil but the papers had vanished. Brows crinkling angrily, Steiner moved to check his pockets, just to be certain they were gone but seeing his falter was enough. The Burmecian reached out, announcing his aim by intoning Lindblumese rights.

Beatrix ran.

Beatrix, tugging at him as they went sprinting through the business district's streets, both bumping more people than Steiner could apologise to. Knowing this was only course to take, Steiner followed as best he could. Gradually, the Burmecian's cries grew fainter as they pushed further into the crowd's belly then came out into a different lane. Running to the other end till they reached the next large street -- not as filled as the other but still easy to hide in -- Steiner moved one way but Beatrix pulled him in the direction the people were flowing, forcing him into walking at a normal pace.

"Idiot!" he hissed, fear getting the better of him.

"Me? _You_ lost those papers. This is your doing."

Steiner wondered exactly _how_ it was his fault. That girl had surely swindled them. And, he'd have her know, after saving her twice she could be a little more appreciative of his expertise. He told her as much.

"Firstly, Steiner," she said heatedly as they went with the group, "you _did not_ rescue me on the airship. I had matters perfectly under control until you decided to throw your support at me. Secondly, that girl was no threat at all until _you_ picked her up and tossed her like a sack of potatoes. And lastly, if you hadn't misplaced --"

"I didn't!" he exclaimed. "Whatever I did, you were the one who fled like a thief. And pulled me into this mess."

"I couldn't pull you anywhere, even if I wanted to!" her mouth snapped shut, face frozen in an angry grimace. But her eyes mirrored all the fear he felt.

"…Sorry," he muttered, and he may have been apologising for wearing armour that _creech_-ed, or for liking gyshal pickles when she'd told him they were repulsive, or for, Alexander forbid, committing the worst sin of all -- _saving her life_ -- but he apologised all the same because she was his commander and that's what grunts did.

* * *

Sitting on the airship's deck, wind tickling her ever-unruly hair, Beatrix didn't know why she'd yelled at him like that, only that he'd deserved a great portion of it -- he'd had the nerve to stop her dying again. Thing was, deep down in some rarely accessed section of her brain, she knew there was a _teeny_ part of her wrath he hadn't deserved, knew it with as much certainty as she knew gyshal pickles tasted like fatty lumps of salty vinegar and left you wanting to drink the ocean, even though it tastes bad too, just to get rid of the flavour and they were disgusting but Steiner liked them anyway.

She was rambling again. She was going off into silent, irrelevant tangents and what was bad was that no one could hear and tell her to shut up.

Beatrix sighed. She'd meant the icy wind on deck to keep her mind from wandering. Like how when you're in pain, you don't think about anything else except the agony because anything else is insignificant beside hurting. Same principal.

It was failing and Beatrix was catching a cold.

The brunette stood and walked over to grasp the railings, watching pinpricks of light on a velvety purple sky, white paint an artist had flicked onto his canvas. At least it was over. Unlike Steiner, she hadn't bothered analysing the information they'd retrieved because she had no knowledge of mechanics nor, truthfully, had she any desire to face what they were against. A childish notion, a selfish notion, but one she'd cling to nonetheless. War was ugly and not her forte. General Madelene would know what had to be done, now. She trembled from cold and maybe fear and maybe regret. But not sympathy. Never sympathy.

Beatrix closed her eyes, face turned into the gale that had suddenly arisen, and concentrated on the pain.

* * *

**Notes on the chapter:**

- Beatrix refers to herself as "short" in this chapter. She's actually rather average in height but crowds are oppressive and tend to make you feel smaller than you are.

- Beatrix mentions Asgard. This is the Norse equivalent of heaven. I used it because when entering Memoria, Beatrix also says something about Steiner entering Valhalla, which is the Hall of Gods within Asgard. Seems they like their Norse mythology.

- II also contains a not-so-subtle tribute to FFVIII.

- The Doom Pub is the tavern that Zidane and Freya meet in. It also serves Soup du Silence and Dark Stew.

- No, Steiner isn't very street-wise. Beatrix is, and has her reasons for being so.

- Sorry, the layout of Steiner's orders is screwed up. I really hate this document creator.


	4. III: Starfall

**Chapter III**  
_**Starfall**_

_**

* * *

**_That morning, Steiner woke to the beautiful chorus of oglops.

With a cry, the knight went tumbling out of bed. The cheeky creatures had caught him off-guard by invading his chambers while he slept and had thoroughly claimed the room for themselves, fouling whatever they wanted. As he lay there too stunned for movement, an oglop jumped onto his nose, oozing gunk as its front feet pawed his cheeks in a less than endearing way. Yelling obscenities, the brave knight swatted it off, his hand coming away smeared with essence of vile. When he regained some sense, Steiner righted himself and stood. The reek of fish guts with bananas made his stomach do backflips, frontflips and all other manner of flips as he surveyed the scene, a battlefield in his bedroom.

They were everywhere: his bed, the table, the window ledge, in his open clothes drawer. One even had the nerve to squat on his helmet where it toyed with his lucky feather, annulling whatever good fortune the trinket may have carried with its foul touch. Its beady eyes rolled in his direction as it croaked happily, the slime dripping from its features.

"You… repulsive…" Steiner said, too flustered to utter full sentences let alone recognise he was talking to a bug.

As if understanding his insult, the hoard of oglops stopped to turn identically ugly eyes on the knight, burning stares appearing to riddle him with more holes than Dali cheese. Very slowly, Steiner backed out of the room, never averting his own gaze for fear they'd pounce on him, spatter him in goop. After closing the door on the horrible stench and noise, he permitted himself a sigh of relief.

The clinking of metal on metal announced the approach of another knight and Steiner, in his state of undress, hastily straightened for the patrolman. He just had time to fix his nightcap, which had been knocked askew in the scuffle, before a Pluto Knight entered the scene, jogging round the corner with all his regiment's usual inelegance. "Good morning, sir!" Breireicht, the oldest of Captain Klein's soldiers greeted, handing him a note in between huffs and wheezes that spoke of his perpetually out of shape self. Steiner spared a dubious glance for the other's too wide grin before unfolding the parchment, crinkled and slightly sweaty from being held so tight. His eyebrows climbed as he read,

-

_Steiner,_

_I must compliment you for the Petrify Pudding yesterday. It tasted so delicious that at first I wasn't certain it was you, with your terrible taste in food, that had given it to me as it was half-palatable. Of course, the half that was disgusting informed me you had indeed concocted it, though the spoon was stone in my mouth by then. In thanks, I left you a present which, if you are reading this, you already unwrapped. Twenty-three oglops, one for each year of you life. I hope you have as much fun catching them as I did doubled up in the same position for three hours. _

_Happy Birthday. _

-

Steiner screwed the paper into a jagged ball and tossed it out the nearest window. Beatrix had been doubly nasty since he'd stumbled upon her in the airship creating an impromptu campfire. Why on Gaia the brunette was so caught up in his violating her modesty (her interpretation of the rescue, not his) Steiner would never know. So he'd seen her undergarments. Considering the women of the Alexandria Royal Military pranced around in what could be mistaken as bathing costumes, legs exposed to the point of bordering on pornography, Steiner couldn't quite grasp what the problem was.

"Your reply, sir?" Breireicht asked, his toothy smile giving Steiner the feeling the entirety of Alexandria Castle was in on this. The Lieutenant felt his heart migrate to somewhere in his digestive system. He sincerely hoped Beatrix _never_ gave him a present, ever again, especially if it meant having the greater part of his hometown ridicule him over it. Steiner's teeth clenched, making his mouth distort into a feral snarl. Breireicht's smile faded and he backed up a few steps.

"Tell Beatrix," Steiner growled, "when I next see her, it will be as if all her birthdays come at once."

* * *

"I'll not ask how you broke into his room," Catherine said, conveying her suspicions as, rubbing sleep from squinting eyes, she fell into the chair beside Beatrix. Queen Brahne's surprise call for a council of war earlier that morning had been met with much grumbling on the blonde's part, though this was what a knight subjected herself to when accepting a position of command. As a newly appointed lieutenant, it was vital that Catherine remained punctual, that she acted the proper part. Beatrix was pleased she'd have a close friend beside her today.

"I'll have you know I'm rather resourceful when need be," Beatrix said. At a knowing smile from Catherine, she amended, "Although truthfully, the guards just let me by. I suspect they're accustomed to our feuding now."

Catherine rolled her eyes, "_I_ suspect one of these days, Steiner will do something dreadful to you."

"Worse than turning me to stone? Now _that_ was hardly fair."

"Maybe it wasn't about revenge. Maybe he just fancied to gaze adoringly at you, forever frozen in your pudding-eating beauty, lips half parted to invite the sweetness of the wobbly dessert he prepared personally…"

"Very funny," she said, implying it was anything _but_. Still, she had to fight the smile from forming. Steiner and her? The list of unsavoury people she'd rather wed ranged from Alleyway Jack to that womanising dolt Weimar to the odd fishy guy that owned the inn. Not that she had anything against animal-humans -- for instance, Burmecians were nice, quiet folk who, with their artisans, produce delicate pottery and silverware -- but marrying and bedding one was a little kinky for her tastes.

Heat flooded her cheeks at the wild images her mind conjured at _that_.

Catherine poked her in the ribs, "What's this? My dear Beatrix, I do believe you are blushing!"

Blinking away those thoughts -- goodness, such fantasies were for silly girls and she was practically a woman! -- Beatrix's face immediately lost its colour. "It -- no, I'm just… It's a little warm in here," and this statement was proved all the more foolish as the brunette sneezed (Staying up deck on the cargo ship had definitely taken its toll.) A gust of wind threw open the windows and as the room was filled with snowflakes and complaints, two women jumped to close out the chill. Catherine rose a goading eyebrow, to which Beatrix weakly smiled.

A sudden clanking of armour saved her from unwilling explanations. Steiner stalked through the door, open despite it letting cold air in. It didn't take long for him to find Beatrix. Once he closed the distance between them with a few angrily rigid strides, he chucked a small sack on her lap and announced, "I decline your gift." Beatrix winced at the loud proclamation, which drew everyone's attention, and suppressed another sneeze. Throwing the writhing bag back at him (it croaked in protest), she stated, "Sorry, it's non-refundable."

"I don't require a refund!"

Throw.

"It's impolite to return a present!"

Throw.

Steiner glared at the hated oglop bag for a moment, then began utilising is most effective organ of all: his very wide mouth. "I don't _care_ if you think I'm impolite. I don't care what you think period. And I have no idea why you feel compelled to make my existence miserable, even on my birthday you can't leave me alone, and how you even _know _my birthday's today is beyond me!"

Beatrix was well-aware his sentences were becoming dangerously run-on and that was never a good sign, yet she let him continue, resigning herself to half-listening as his deep voice steadily rose, "Now you wake me up with these _reprehensible_ monsters, make me chase around after them for hours and I know you know I hate them! And you won't even take them back. So you can just--"

Sighing, "Just be quiet, Steiner," -- the brunette felt no need to give him a title now they were equals -- she summoned magic to her fingertips, the familiar fuzzy sensation creeping up her forearms before flying from her in bursts of white stars. It took Steiner a few moments, during which he worked his mouth heedlessly, before it came to him that he wasn't making any noise. Words that would have had the entire room up in arms caught in his throat like insects in a spider's web. Clapping and cheering arose from the onlookers, who had been forced to endure his tirade and many approached Beatrix, offering their thanks. Someone congratulated her heartily, saying if she were skilled with magic, she would have cast Silence long ago.

In the background, Beatrix caught Steiner flapping his arms desperately, eyes two deadly promises of what she had to look forward to for this one. She just tossed her hair, smirking.

A moment later, Queen Brahne entered the room, General Madelene and Captain Klein at her heels. Everyone scurried to stand behind their seats and offer salutes.

"Please, sit," the Queen beckoned upon taking her place at the head of the long table. Klein leaned over to spread out maps of the Mist Continent while Madelene sat to Brahne's right. Commander of the Queen's bodyguards, she had an unreadable expression on her face, an even thicker mask than her usual icy demeanour.

Captain Klein dutifully went about the mundane task of handing out items Beatrix recognised as the blueprints she and Steiner had in the public eye Klein was personal guardian to Princess Garnet, this was a farce to keep the Alexandrian men happy. In truth, Madelene's responsibilities encompassed royal heirs as well, a fact that was not lost on any castle employee, ensuring a long and healthy rivalry between the two factions.

"To begin, thanks must be extended to the soldiers who made a reconnoitre of Lindblum. The gathered information has been thoroughly analysed by our finest tacticians over the past three days. It pains me to say they have all come to the same grievous conclusion: with this updated airship, Regent Cid is planning another assault on our country."

A murmur, like a swarm of angered bees, rose from the officers. Beatrix heard Catherine breath in a sharp gasp, shrinking into her chair as if she could escape the ill news.

When Beatrix had stood on the cargo ship's deck she'd felt light-headed from quivering, the altitude and her hometown's impending woes. Still, as she hadn't seen the information for herself her heart had refused to acknowledge death before it was necessary. Hearing the words from her liege, everything became terrifyingly clear, the strike of lightning that lit the storm-darkened sky.

Alexandria would burn.

Not in six months, maybe not even in as many years, could her peaceful town stand up to the might of Lindblum's fleet. Alexandria would burn and Beatrix would be engulfed with it.

True, already the brunette had slain countless monsters over years in training and squiring, felt as her blade entered flesh and came away bloodied, covered in remnants of intestine, heart or lung. Death's stench was one that never left a killer, something inescapable as the light announcing the rising sun. That smell would stifle one if a conscious effort was not made to batter it down. Beatrix had comforted herself, knowing they were soulless fiends whose minds were consumed with bloodlust and hence she had not caused anyone grief by dispatching it. The adventure she'd hoped for when she'd left her father in Treno four years past… it was not to be found here.

Here, she would become a murderer.

"We have six months to prepare."

Someone abruptly stood and ran to the corner, followed by the guttural churning of regurgitation. Madelene ordered her dismissal.

"So time becomes our enemy as much as the Lindblumese. Study the plans if it pleases you; you can clearly see the route Lindblum will take when invading. General Madelene shall post new schedules for everyone. While I leave training to her discretion, I should hope you will endeavour to put in extra efforts.

"Remember, Alexandria is at stake. We cannot bend to Cid's tyranny. Protect your families. Protect your friends. Protect you country."

The Queen stood to leave and there was an ear-splitting creak of wooden chair legs as everyone rose with her. Mostly everyone. Some were so shocked they remained seated, eyes round white balls like tiny chocobo eggs. Vomit's thick smell hung in the air.

"Oh, and General," the corpulent Queen turned to address Madelene. "Who was that young woman?"

"The major, Majesty?"

Brahne nodded, "The one with the weak stomach. See to her replacement immediately."

"Of course, Majesty," she replied, pressing fist to heart with a metallic thud. As Queen Brahne left, Captain Klein doggedly following her, Madelene turned her sharp gaze on Beatrix, eyes foretelling of the request to come. "You will accept this role?" she said, formality at its peak.

Beatrix knelt for her General. "Verily," was all she could muster. Within her shell, she felt she might retch too.

* * *

Frost cloaked his armour. Sweat seemed to solidify on his face. Feeling had abandoned his fingers and it was becoming difficult to grip his sword. Out in the practise yard behind the castle, amongst snow and wind, Steiner fought on. Vice's Slice beget Trick Sparrow Takes Flight beget Tusk of the Wyerd. As he moved into the next sequence of blows, Steiner lost his footing and fell to the sleet-covered ground, armour screeching against ice-hardened stones. He didn't say anything, no surprised yelps, no cursing. Numb lips prohibited any words.

What a grievous day. As if oglops weren't retribution enough for whatever past sins he'd committed, on the General's whim Beatrix was raised two ranks in as many seconds whilst he stood by unable to say a word. Alexandria had much magical blood in her people and he'd known she could use healing spells, but his rival had done well to keep her talents concealed. Luckily, echo screens were easy to come by. Not like softs, he sniggered.

Of course, he was avoiding the real issue, but nothing productive would come of thinking about an uncertain future. He'd had his doubts about assignment to a mission he had no expertise with and that had turned out fine. Shame at having no faith in his superiors had kept him awake these past nights, knowing he had disgraced his father, who, in his younger days, was a knight of the highest devotion. Now, with self-reproach gnawing at him as a mouse gradually consumes a slice of stale bread, Steiner swore never to doubt his Queen again. How could a lowly knight hope to understand the grand schemes of kings and queens? He certainly had no right to question his betters.

"Lieutenant," called a voice, barely audible for the wind. Steiner looked to Laudo's proffered hand. Swiping snowflakes from his eyes, the officer let his friend pull him back up. Treacherously slippery stones made the task harder, yet Steiner was standing soon enough.

Bending to grab his broadsword, he said, "What news?" Forming the words was difficult; they came out a little garbled.

"None, save I would see my friend out of this weather." When Steiner offered no reply, Laudo grasped him by the shoulders, shaking him gently. "Come now," he said genially, "The gates of heaven may open for us, yet it is only to bring Shiva's chilly reckoning. Do not play the heroic fool, who in his quest for glory, falls upon his own sword."

Steiner sighed, breath crystallising before his face. Laudo and his flowery speech would never change. Still, he was right. After practising here for hours, seeing others come and go, he was testing Alexander's grace. He was only a man, and a man could freeze as anything else.

Furrowing his brows in wordless determination, he said, "Just one last try."

Steiner clenched his weapon's hilt, drawing it to his chest. Legs shifted as he braced himself for what was to come, armoured feet struggling to find stabilisation. In his mind, he began feeding negative emotions into his blade, fuelling it with venom.

_Anger._

Lindblumese pillaging his hometown, slaughtering children, ravaging women.

_Hatred._

General Madelene lording over a pile of corpses, tainting Save the Queen.

_Jealousy._

Beatrix, eyes smiling at him, telling him how useless he was.

_Fear._

Inability to protect what he loved.

Disappointing his father.

Snake-like arms grew from the sword, writhing like Medusa's hair, each black beyond description, yet a multitude of colours timeless as the stars. Intensifying, the darkness curled in on itself, coalescing into a sphere that seemed to have no dimensions. It stank of evil. Between gulps of air, the knight smiled. Never before had he come this far.

A sudden frost coiled round Steiner's heart, spreading throughout his body like the unfurling of grim wings. Not the cold of winter's heart or the farthest poles of Gaia; this was the icy sting of Death's touch, burning its way through his soul. Vaguely, he thought someone called his name as he felt his lifeforce leak away.

Then all at once, the ball ricocheted back into Steiner, imploding on him. A startled cry ripped from his throat as he went soaring backwards across the clearing. Hitting a group of women, landing in a heap of arms and legs, Steiner's eyesight dwindled as the pain of the collision jolted through him, along with a myriad of smaller stabs, flaring like fierce fire. A collective effort from the other knights saw him shoved unceremoniously to the pavement. It was as if a woollen blanket had been cast over his mind.

("Lieutenant! Lieutenant Steiner, sir, are you okay?")

'…_Steiner…?' _

He blinked dazedly. No recollection, no memory, nothing hinting at anything. Only a vast emptiness, unused storage space, and he was floating in this, a sea of despair. He groaned, suddenly aware of an acute stabbing sensation in his unprotected forearms and legs, and raised a hand to his throbbing face. As he did so, someone firmly grabbed his wrist.

("Don't touch it.")

Eyes cracked open to be greeted with a gaping night. Slowly, dawn's first light appeared and the shadow kneeling before him took on a human form, became a silhouette against a dismal sky. Various other blobs surrounding him reformed into anxious-looking Knights of Pluto.

("Clear the way! Clear off, you imbeciles!")

Another voice, commanding even though barely raised. A hulking behemoth of a fellow easily pushed a smaller knight away, the one gripping his hand. The expression this newcomer wore was a stern one, his face a thunderhead. Pressing thumb and forefinger to the injured one's temples, he might have said something. The world was still hazy and it was hard to tell.

("Do you know who I am?")

'_Who you are…?' _

He floundered in that ocean, desperately searched for the right name. It was awful, having nothing to relate to. He squeezed his eyes shut and fragments of memories seeped back to him in a steady trickle. "Captain…" he murmured, uncertain but willing to try. Even with his vision clearing, he would recognise the brisk, no-words-to-be-wasted tone.

"And you are?"

"…Adelbert Steiner, sir." The response was barely intelligible, but the name came blissfully easily, putting his fears to rest. Other unrelated images began flooding back then, a torrent of a lifetime suddenly lived, crushing him under immense mental weight. He may have groaned at the impact.

The Captain's face dissolved into skepticism, "You are certain these memories are your own?"

Steiner blinked to settle his head. "Of course, Captain. Why…?" he began, then suddenly hadn't the strength to continue. The light faded away, blossoms withering at the end of warmer days, as Steiner was hefted up and taken away. His comrades' features dulled again and the world was surely underwater, for everything moved with the carefully measured slowness of restriction. He did not know where he was placed, only that when his wits returned to him, Steiner was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. The pain of before had died into a persistent sting. He reached a hand to his face where he felt coarse material.

Bandages… and more on his arms. Bare arms -- his armour had been removed and he was clothed in a tunic.

Tiny black flecks still danced across his vision. As such, Steiner wasn't aware he had company until Captain Klein said, "So, he awakens."

Steiner tried standing at attention, failed, and resigned himself to a salute that brought fresh jabs to his arm. Gritting his teeth, he gingerly lowered it again.

"Lucky that you suffered only physical wounds," Klein went on, stretching long legs -- just how long had he been waiting? "Darkside has done much worse to others."

"Sir?"

"I know what it was you did. Don't play me for a fool," his voice was wrought with tight irritation and his broad face mirrored this, effectively deterring Steiner from pursuing the topic of conversation. However, after minutes passed without another word, eventually Klein decided, "I suppose the logical thing is to tell you…" Steiner felt his puzzlement showing as the other lifted his eyes, two hard boulders that may knock him down if he spoke wrong. "You mustn't question what I tell you. Only, know the truth.

"Darkside is a fearsome skill, one only the Dark Knights of old could master for its effects are so grave. There are those who were maimed, arms, eyes, legs… lost to the darkness. Some, moulded into twisted creatures of shadow, each skerrick of goodness sucked from them, driving them to bestial rage. And there were some who lost all memory of what they once were, abandoned to a void of unknowingness. I have watched loved ones waste away, praying for the return of the afflicted's mind.

"It is a dangerous thing to call on the powers of evil. Few can do so safely without having it consume them." Enraptured by this revelation, unsure how to respond to being told he could have destroyed himself, Steiner swallowed his fear and remained quiet. The older knight turned his eyes on him then, fathomless grey orbs in a frowning face, "There is great strength in the technique. However, I would not use it, save in the most dire of circumstances."

"...Not know myself…" Steiner murmured, comprehending the idiocy of his actions. He hung his head, his absent helmet failing to restrain locks of hair that now fell into his face in sweaty chunks. "I was stuck there, for a time. I tasted the bland soapiness of ignorance. I cannot think of a worse fate than to remain there for all my years," he confided in his Captain, voice dry like grains of sand. He couldn't stop a shudder rippling through him.

"It appears fortune favours you," Klein noted. "I trust you will not try her for more blessings."

Remembering his place, Steiner made himself salute. He ignored the pain that flared anew as he did so. "I'll not chance myself again, Captain."

Klein nodded before rising to leave. As he reached the doorway he turned back, a flash of remembrance lighting his face, "About your broadsword. It was completely shattered in the blast. Count yourself lucky none of the shards blinded you. See to it you find yourself another one."

The wounded knight absently traced the lines of uncovered cuts on his arm, grateful he hadn't been conscious when the metal fragments were removed. To have broken his weapon like it was nothing but a toy… What a tremendous power.

Not just tremendous. Terrible.

"And Steiner."

"Captain?"

"Don't exert yourself. You needn't fall to darkness for your country, however much you love it. After all, a bad soldier is more useful than a dead one," Klein said this over his shoulder as his steps took him through the doorway. Steiner nodded acceptance to himself and then let his form fall back against the bed, feeling utterly drained of willpower rather than exhausted physically. He tried to sleep, but the notion that he may never wake again kept slumber far at bay.

What a birthday...

* * *

"H-Hey, Beatrix!"

Said woman pulled her gaze from the nightscape of Alexandria and turned to regard the speaker with mild irritation. Between the woman's hiccups, the brunette was unsure whether the request for attention was even directed at her -- 'Beatrix' came out more like 'Bee-trish,' which could have been an exotic fruitcake for all she knew.

"What?" she demanded shortly. Night watch was tedious enough without these louts drinking too much ale. However much they petitioned it kept them warm and made guarding the West Tower the more tolerable, Beatrix tired of pointing out that it was spring and quite warm. Besides, no good came of poisoning oneself.

The younger woman, Stefanie, lifted her mug with such violence that waves of dirty brown liquid splooshed over the brim, trickling wetly along her raised arm. "I say, a toast to Alexandria's finest knight," she slurred, swaying in a manner that promised many bruises would blossom that night.

"Here, here!" cried another, leaning against the stone enclosure of the tower top. The fourth and last, sitting mutely on the ground, mimicked her friends' actions. Groggy as she was, the cup ended tumbling from her grasp. She dismissed it with a hiccoughed and blinked up at Beatrix, murmuring something utterly unintelligible before dissolving into sleep. The brunette glared at them in turn before redirecting her gaze, attempting to guard against an airship invisible under its cloak of dark. Much as she wished otherwise, she hadn't the heart to berate them. With fewer than thirty days before the Hilda Garde became flyable, with them working so vigorously to further their abilities, it would be unkind to steal their last moments of joy.

Besides, they considered Beatrix their finest, treated her as a king would his treasured youngest daughter, resplendent in her youth and well-aware of her duties as a princess. While Beatrix lacked the quiet grace that was evident in Princess Garnet, who was little more than five years of age, yet she possessed swordsmanship and dedication enough to inspire them. Another thing that kindled their love and admiration was her less-than-friendly rivalry with one Adelbert Steiner, who as usual was being his annoying self. Earlier, he'd been doing laps of the castle -- Alexander knows why, for she could see far more from her lofty position than he -- and his armour had been squeaking to the extreme that she'd pushed her headband over her ears and yelled something at him about oglop oil. Of course, Steiner had traipsed around all the more after that. He still hadn't forgiven her for that jibe months ago and she had a feeling his deep resentment of insects would see his grudge fester for years to come.

So, tucking hair behind one ear, she told them, "You needn't make drunken proclamations of my perceived grandeur. It doesn't befit knights of Alexandria."

Stefanie bared teeth in a feral grin. "Chivalry is for knights of ages past. Right now, we wanna drink and be merry. So!" and as she stepped forward, her foot lighted on the snoring woman's discarded round shield. It skidded from beneath her and she slipped backwards, falling through a gap meant for archers to shoot through. Being the only sober one, Beatrix sprung towards her and hooked her fingers around the top of the other's breastplate. The shiny, well-polished metal began slipping away and Beatrix quickly grabbed the blonde's arm. For the beat of a heart they remained poised like that, Stefanie curled wrong-ways over the tower's top and in the sudden silence interrupted by steadying breathing, Beatrix heard the putting of propellers.

Roughly yanking her companion to safety, she cried, "Lindblum attacks! Sound the alarm, quick!"

Sluggish with drink-induced haze, the others merely obliged her with much groaning and unhelpful meaningless gestures. Impossible as the pre-emptive attack had seemed, Beatrix stored her questions away to scramble over the dozing one's legs, up stone steps and flung herself at the bell's rope. The knight tugged with all her might and before the third warning knell had sounded, the castle shifted into organised pandemonium, clear brass trumpets joining the ever-increasing number of bells in a rousing fanfare. "Up, you fools!" the brunette hissed, though it was clear her fellow knights were not battle ready. She risked a glance at the oncoming Hilda Garde. What greeted her was beyond all their imaginings.

The star-dotted expanse of sky was also riddled with other glittering lights, starkly artificial on such a beautiful backdrop. Each contained the foreboding, unholy glow of a tonberry's lantern and they were numerous enough to cover the greater stretch of the horizon.

It wasn't just an airship. It was an entire fleet.

"Get you to safety," she counselled softly, eyes forced on the assailing vessels. Finally tearing them way, Beatrix made for the spiralling staircase down. "To safety!" she ordered, louder, as she raced downstairs and prayed they were capable of finding cover unaided. Their deaths over her head would be a weight she could not carry lightly.

So she ran, forcing her way past court scholars, bards, librarians and chefs who surged in a torrent against her. In its hurry, a Qu's great bulk knocked her from her feet and heedless of the smaller being it dashed for the kitchen, crying about its 'yummy-yummies.' Beatrix rubbed the back of her head, which had collided with an ornamental suit of armour that had previously stood neglected in a corner. The sudden contact had scattered its various legs and arms, and the head had rolled midway across the hallway. Steiner chose that moment to come bungling round the corner, dishellved to the point of being only half in his armour (in place of a helmet he wore an odd nightcap with a red pompom on the end). The lieutenant made a wonderful display of tripping over the plumed helm Beatrix had disturbed before crashing into half the room's occupants as he staggered for ever-elusive balance. Regardless of their mutual hatred, Beatrix went to help him. Alexandria needed every able woman or man right now, and she supposed Steiner just scraped into that category.

"Thank you," he breathed, gripping her steadying arm as he panted dog-like at the floor. After one last gulp of air to calm his nerves, he turned to her. Had the situation been less severe, Beatrix may have laughed at his swift re-claiming of his limb. Then again, it had been some time since she had truly laughed.

"_Pluto Knights, asseeeeemble!_" Captain Klein's bellowed order was easily audible even over the ruckus of a castle under siege. This was met with much clanks and runnings rounds in circles as said knights of the Underworld's god struggled to make good on the simple command. Eternally hopeless, they were, and likely beyond remedy.

For that brief moment, everything was simple. Misgivings of before evaporated as Beatrix looked on Steiner as the ally he had to be in this time of peril. She raised her eyes to lock with the other knight's, feeling a sudden bond with her countryman.

"Promise we'll live to fight another day."

Snatching the feathered helm he had faltered on seconds ago, the man smiled at the hidden significance in her words. Decisively, he nodded once then pulled the helm over his head -- Beatrix refrained from ruining his moment by pointing out he had, indeed, failed to remove that ridiculous sleeping cap beforehand. Determination chiselled itself on Steiner's face before the knight turned to find his captain.

An earth-shattering explosion shook the castle. Beatrix's hand clutched the pommel of her sword as if to remind herself it accompanied her and she moved to find Squad C. They would be waiting in the training grounds along with the others. Here, under Her Majesty's portrait, was the assemblage point for the Knights of Pluto and Madelene's Squad. Once more, the entrance hall was buffeted, nearly forcing Beatrix to lose her footing as Lindblum's arsenal cracked into the castle walls, creating small dry rivers in stone. As the brunette turned the final corner, spilling into moonlight obscured by smoke from strengthening fires, she beheld the beginnings of a mighty army forming. Some airships, the first Mist-powered vessels in history, were landing just outside the city limits under cover fire from others. This wasting of ammo was unnecessary to Beatrix's eyes. Holding their position on the outskirts as they were meant the ships were out of the archers' and catapults' range.

Citizens' screams sounded through the night. Enough lives had not yet been claimed to call death commonplace and the people were not yet desensitised to violence so instead of barricading themselves indoors, they scrambled to find friends and family members. Others huddled in wailing clusters around those dead or dying, unfortunate enough to be torn by debris and shrapnel, some staring amazed at their arm lying two paces away. A projectile hit the steeple, making its bell _ding_ dully, an oddly familiar noise in an otherwise hectic scene, before its top slowly dropped like a freshly executed prisoner. Amongst this, the whole nine of Beatrix's troops stood alert whilst Lieutenant Catherine, her second, spoke words to them. Beatrix went to her comrades, hand fastened to her silver sword, ready for combat as she'd ever be. For Alexandria, she would gladly become a murderer.

General Madelene arrived within moments, calm as ever in danger's harsh and unyielding face. After allocating instructions to her personal soldiers she dutifully went to deliver a typically encouraging speech to the remainder of the army, those not skilled enough to become part of Queen Brahne's elite guard. She stalked up and down the regiments, tapping the arms of those who trembled or balked at her words in an attempt at reassurance, "Though the hour of wolves is upon us, we cannot falter here. Though darkness falls, and all may turn to fire and despair, we cannot falter here. And though friends may fall and dreams fail, we cannot falter here. For we are a mighty people and our soil will run red with our blood before the enemy conquers Alexandria. Take heart in your comrades and countrymen, be emboldened by their courage and above all else, do not quake at the prospect of death, for the brave do not fear the grave!"

Madelene unsheathed Save the Queen, its blade gleaming silver-red despite the moon's light being all but overcome. "To war!" she cried, and each woman yelled with her, a fearsome single-minded harmony tearing apart all other sound.

When her fellow warriors ceased their pledges of fighting to the last, Beatrix turned to the women of Squad C, meeting their eyes, wordlessly assuring the soldiers she was with them. Whatever misgivings she'd had about assuming the role of major, the brunette now fully understood her obligation to Alexandria and knew the situation demanded utter dedication as one knows the sun will beat back the moon. A childish desire to escape marrying into servitude had driven her back to the place she claimed as hometown, to elude the chains nobles' wives endured, yet her shining wish to follow the path her mother had laid out and to protect the legacy that was Alexandria was what fuelled her that night. Beatrix smiled then, with genuine gratitude and love for both her home and the friends who had become family whose own eyes burned passionate readiness and a lust to prove their worth.

"We make for the gates," she told them simply, further tightening the utility belt across her waist, and Squad C reacted with swiftness born of skills sharply honed for this crisis.

As the Major journeyed through streets swarming with scared citizens, startled from their nightly routines, she cast a furtive glance towards the skies. Lindblum's fleet was close enough to discern the ships' identical shapes, whale-like grey monstrosities with flame eyes. Yet they were not over the city; it seemed they refused to place themselves in danger. _'All the better for us Regent Cid won't risk his precious new toys,' _Beatrix noted, passing the bird dropping-stained statue showing the three 'heroic' Knights of Pluto, for that was clearly the reason behind their lack of participation. The thought was less cheering than it could have been -- this meant the Lindblumese would cross Alexandria Plateau before braving the Ceebell River's waters, which were deceptive in their powerful undertows and even more so in the dark. The peril his men faced… Surely Cid was aware of his folly?

'_Then again,'_ the Major conceded, dashing through Alexandria's Gates, _'Greed wreaks havoc on the best of people.'_ Hopefully his defeat tonight would teach him to stop coveting machinery as an overindulgent Qu does cuisine.

Upon their arrival at the forefront of battle, enemy lancers were struggling to claim the stone bridges granting safe passage over the liquid shadows of the Ceebell. Klein, standing elevated on a large rock jutting stalwartly from the water's surface, was shouting orders to anyone who would listen whether Pluto Knights or not. Even he must have realised Madelene had stationed him on the west because it was slightly more guarded by the mountains than the east, but the Captain appeared unperturbed, his face all hard planes telling at a glance that he took this very seriously. While there was no denying Klein's skill, the soldiers under him were perpetual louts who preferred quoting Lord Avon or stuffing their faces with gyshal pickles to training. Beatrix knew Madelene had put them there in the same manner a child disregards her once-prized toy in favour of a sparkling new doll or toy soldier. Except the Pluto Knights had never been prized in such a way and of course, Beatrix's company was to subtly oversee him, to make sure every order was a thoroughly considered tactical manoeuvre.

This didn't stop Klein from hailing the Major. This being no moment for her to perform her much contemplated mutiny, Beatrix obliged, refraining from letting slip Madelene's motives for ordering Squad C stand by his rusty tin soldiers. "Sir?" she asked briefly, giving him his much sought and oft elusive salute. Breathing more rapidly after her late night jaunt, her nose met with stifling woody smoke and the tang of fresh blood. Back here, the smell wasn't too invasive.

The man stepped down, moved to Beatrix's side and pointed out one of the bridges, its guardhouse billowing thick smoke. "Two squads are down there now, but after the last explosion I have my doubts," he endeavoured to explain, wiping perspiration from his bluff face. Dropping his voice, he said, "The Lindblumese know the west side is less protected. After being dispatched on the east, they come around the lake to flank us. When they get here, we will be caught in their pincer attack," and he added validity to his assumptions by pointing towards a flurry of torch lights advancing around the circle of where the river became a lake.

"What would you have me do?" Beatrix asked, eyes darting along the river's edge.

"Send you best runner to Madelene. We must reinforce our position now."

Beatrix nodded, already turning to Catherine. Smiling, the blonde said, "I heard," before sprinting back the way they'd came without a second thought. Wordlessly, Major Beatrix covered the twenty meters of bridge, reaching the guard post Klein had indicated unhindered -- Lindblum did not believe in archers and their spear throwers had not breached this area. The sharpened tree trunks their enemies sent soaring from the heights to batter against Alexandria overshot them, keeping them from a crushing death. The projectiles, which were set alight before release, were like falling stars, tumbling to the earth as angels cast down from heaven. And like Lucifer, they brought destruction and pain, fire and death.

Half the guardhouse was a mess of caved-in rubble, hints of people protruding from the pile in odd place. Beatrix uncovered one, her battered neck arranged at an impossible angle. She didn't bother checking for a pulse that wouldn't thrum under her fingers. Already scraped palms merely sought out the next fallen warrior, the next, her soldiers loyally taking her lead. After too-long minutes of scrounging through chipped stone and blackened wood, a surprised, "Major!" came some distance to her left. Scrubbing blood-raw hands against her uniform, Beatrix went where she was needed.

The injured woman lay partly crushed under remains of the building and people, breath coming disturbingly flat from a chest coloured with crimson. One leg was splayed brokenly in the open, its charred flesh flaking in the aftermath of fire, the smell making Beatrix's stomach swim. The sliver of wood that stuck just below her breast, puncturing armour and lung, looked as if she'd tried to remove it but the woman had either lacked the courage or strength required for the operation. "Beatrix…?" the utterance was a praise albeit one wrought in agony, her cloudy eyes sparking slightly at the brunette's visage. The woman remained nameless to Beatrix. While having others know of her when she knew nothing of them made for much awkwardness and disadvantage for her part, each time a stranger spoke her name Beatrix grew a little more used to it.

Skilled in White Magic as the Major was, this woman's lungs were pooling with blood to an extent that drowning was inevitable. Beatrix said to the soldier cradling the injured one's head, trying to pour a potion into a mouth dribbling red water, "There is nothing to be done for her."

The woman moaned, her hand desperately seeking the stake in her chest. "She can be saved," the soldier argued, not ceasing her attempts at delivering the healing liquid. Beatrix placed a hand on her shoulder and felt tiny vibrations rattling the woman's body. When she looked up, silent tears traced lines down her dirtied face. "The others need you," Beatrix ordered. After a moment, the soldier obliged, whether from dedication or unwillingness to see the hurt look in her ward's eyes, the brunette couldn't say.

Beatrix looked at the Alexandrian. She looked scarcely older than herself. "Do you wish to suffer in needless pain?" the brunette said and they both knew what the true question was.

"I fear to die," the girl whispered. No further words were exchanged as Beatrix tugged her mythril shortsword free from its leather sheath, knelt and drew the blade across the girl's throat.

And so it was, the first to die by Beatrix's hand was a comrade. The growing yells from over the river, only now audible, served to remind the brunette of her duties and banish the regret already threatening to take hold. Beatrix wiped her sword against the back of her gloved hand, purging it of its taint, and switched it in favour of the silver sword. She could feel the comforting presence of her squad forming behind her, ready to face the legion of Lindblumese and to defend their city to all end. Grieving would find its place later. Now, they had to stand fast until Catherine returned with backup. Looking up from her red gloves, so red against her comrade's paling skin, she made her voice hard as she delivered three simple commands: "Break their spears. Beat them back. Hold the gates."

* * *

The Knights of Pluto had been holding their own until this newest barrage of aggressors from the other bank wearing the Alexandrians away like waves lapping at a sandcastle. Steiner had done his own share of killing whilst through agility or armour avoiding the worst of the onslaught, a small nick here and there being the only indication of combat participation. Up ahead, Captain Klein had entered the fray and was utilising his size to push unsuspecting enemies into the river where they were carried away, water entering their mouths before their screams began. As a spear darted at him, Steiner dodged it and caught his attacker's weapon. Temporarily immobilised, the Lindblumese lancer could not stop Parting the Water from slicing him open navel to jugular. Even before the man collapsed, the armoured one was whirling to meet a fresh victim. His bloody broadsword entered this one's stomach without a ghost of protest and was out again in moments, Serpion's Tail impaling the next.

Granted a brief reprieve, Lieutenant Steiner pushed his helmet up to gulp air tinged with blood and ashes, to relax arms cramping with fatigue. In that moment, his eyes ventured to the adjacent bridge. Sick shock cascaded over the knight as he discovered the Alexandrians there were almost overrun. "Captain!" he shouted, barely hoping his voice would carry over chinking chain mail, swordplay and war cries. Relief mingled with his worry in a strange cocktail of emotions when he saw Klein look to him. "The others!" Steiner gestured to the struggling knights. Klein too appeared startled by the almost-breach. Long legs brought him to Steiner and he bid the Lieutenant follow his direction. Together, they made for the bridge, first having to retreat to the end of their own. Madelene joined them, brandishing Save the Queen as if it were an extension of her arm.

"The east?" Klein asked, voice wavering with each step

"Under control. Be glad I decided to check on you," Madelene replied steadily, outwardly calm as ice.

When their awkward trio reached the danger spot, Steiner realised how lucky they were: a huge pile of what may have been an outpost effectively dammed the stream of Lindblumese, allowing only a trickle over at a time. An exhausted group of mismatched soldiers watched the wall with an eagle's caution, many nursing tears in their flesh of substantial size. Amongst them he spied Beatrix, who with the aid of two others tracked down the bridge, healing those who lay in poorly arranged lines along the length of its cracked surface, as if this warzone were some makeshift hospital.

"What happened here?" he exclaimed once within earshot, but it was to Madelene that the brunette thumped fist to heart and reported. "We were only ten and I could not trouble those closest, for they were as pressed as us. Instead, my lieutenant sent word to Squad D, who were charged with overseeing evacuation. Their task being impossible surrounded as we are, they answered our call."

Madelene glared at the girl. "This is utterly unacceptable," she said reproachfully, as far from her usual praise of Beatrix as possible. To her credit, Steiner's rival didn't challenge the claim. Even if she had tried, the deafening _**boom!**_ as a missile demolished the barrier between them and the enemy and the pitter-patter rain against the fragments of buildings and people would have overridden all protests. The sizeable force that had amassed beyond the bridge now charged forwards, barely halting against feeble resistance of half-dead humans.

Madelene snarled, hurled Climhazzard at them. The ruby energy wave slammed into incomers, cleanly cutting the frontline soldiers in two before it broke on the second row, leaving them wounded with barely a whisper of life remaining. Steiner slammed down his faceguard as he let the first taste steel, adopting Bandersnatch Stalks the Tall Grass to heighten his mobility. Another lancer went to kill an injured woman, who could do nothing but stare up at her would-be murderer in stark fear. Steiner cleaved off his head -- he wasn't sure what technique he used, only that he could not permit such dishonourable actions -- and pulled the woman to her feet. Too stunned to offer thanks, she merely picked up the dead male's discarded spear and plunged into the carnage.

A little ways ahead of him, General Madelene struck another attacker, Save the Queen telling Lindblum whom it fought. The blonde moved infused with the secrets of Seiken, magnifying her skills with holy power that she alone held. Possessing Save the Queen caused the enemy to give her wide berth, none seeking a challenge with the Holy Knight. Madelene hunted them, a viscous cat to scattering mice, too much emotion flaring intensely in eyes that should have been cold stones. Twisting to parry a blow that had hoped to catch her from behind, her sneaky aggressor was rewarded with Shock. Black with burns, the man fell, smoking as an overcooked hunk of meat. Electric after-charge hung thick in the air coupled with battle stench.

"There are far too many! We must retreat into the castle and make our stand there!" That was Captain Klein, all pragmatism regardless of the finer trappings of chivalry.

"I cannot face the Queen until we have rid Alexandria of these scum!" Madelene scowled, her long sword plunging into two enemies in succession, a strange shish-kebab. Pulling it out with a grunt, she turned to the Captain. "Leave if it pleases you, but I remain. I am no coward," and even though the blonde prided herself on her cold façade, she sounded ever so slightly saddened, a contradiction to the killer Steiner knew her to be.

"Do you want more innocent people to die?" Klein said, the entreaty clear. Sound the retreat. The storm cloud grey of his eyes locked on Madelene's face, begging she admit defeat. Intent as he was on convincing her, too late did he realise his danger and Steiner could not reach him quick enough. The spear seemed to materialise embedded in Klein's chest, its crimson point winking cruelly in the fire- and moonlight and even as Steiner avenged him, the Captain fell, lifeless even as he met the ground.

Knowing his Captain had fallen, all Steiner could do was fight on, desperately ignoring the way his limbs slowed with heavy tiredness. An angered scream rose from General Madelene's throat as her comrade-in-arms lay, sprawled motionless underfoot and though the Lindblumese, sensing her beaten, swarmed around her the Holy Knight did not flee. Willing to sacrifice herself for Alexandria and in honour of her fallen friend, Madelene stood her ground. Save the Queen was singing its war cry, slicing through soldier after soldier, falling men as a scythe falls wheat. Beatrix called for the General, telling her they had to leave, and despite himself, Steiner had to concur -- he yelled Madelene's name, hoping she was not senseless with grief over Klein's demise.

* * *

"General!" Beatrix mouthed -- she must have yelled, but Steiner couldn't hear it -- pushing her way forward. There were so many Lindblumese… enough to take the city.

Steiner watched the great General Madelene acknowledge the brunette, a slight smile pulling at her lips. Then, she twisted Save the Queen and opened her own belly.

"Why…?" Beatrix wondered, the word lost in battle. All thought was driven from her save that solitary burning question and she could just stare at the body of her idol crumpled on Alexandrian soil.

Next she was aware, someone was jostling her backwards, telling her to pick up her sword. An enemy's lance swept towards her and Steiner roughly shoved her away and she fell to the ground, jelly-legged. Steiner's sudden movement threw him off-stance enough to see him take the blow himself. At any other time, his arrogant manner would have issued a 'merely a flesh wound' and he would have dismissed, Beatrix knew. Tonight, Steiner gasped as the weapon navigated the gap between his shoulder guard and breastplate, sticking resolutely in his shoulder. As such, he only just evaded a swipe of the man's shortsword, ducking enough to see it lop off the plume of his helmet. The white feather, bright in the dark, did some turbulent turns in midair before drifting down to alight gently on stones some distance from Beatrix. Staring at its surreal image somehow put everything in perspective and Beatrix laboured to her feet.

The lieutenant was cornered against the quiet river. Having already lost her silver sword, Beatrix snatched the nearest weapon from the blood-damp ground and ran to him.

"I would commend your courage had you any," she said, hoping to spur the lancers into recklessness. As she'd hoped, they turned, panic written on their faces at the notion of being blindsided. When they saw her, their expressions quickly dwindled to open mirth at being challenged by a wounded whelp, staggering on worn feet, who could barely keep her sword arm straight. Beatrix knew she presently looked less dangerous than a moogle and only slightly more tolerable.

"Move along, girlie, before we really give you something to cry about!" one threatened, sending the others into fits of snickers and guffaws. Beatrix gritted her teeth so hard she felt they would shatter under pressure, her jaw a vice that surely would never loosen, yet she refused to satisfy their malicious desire to see her weep.

The brunette forced herself to observe the proper niceties, schooled herself to calm and her teeth ceased crushing themselves. "Unhand him or you will suffer the most terrible of consequences." Steiner looked at her then, gratefulness and irritation warring on his face. The hand desperately clutching his blade looked as if it would open on first contact and drop the thing, the spear in his shoulder obviously weakening his grip. The Lindblumese men simply scoffed at her, shooting each other amused looks as they silently decided who would off her.

And then one of them turned and pushed Steiner into the river. Ceebell's swirling depths pulled him out of sight. Beatrix could only stare at the spot he'd occupied, struck by her second loss in as many minutes because while they were as far from friends and close to enemies as two allies could be, while he annoyed her by giving overblown advice and catching her in her undergarments and making her ride lunatic chocobos… everything considered, Steiner still owned a small part of her. Even if he'd stolen it.

'_I hate… I hate __**this**__… What you did to Alexandria, to Klein and Madalene… and what you took from me… I'll make you wish you hadn't!' _

Beatrix had never used this technique before, had never felt anything like the reassuring hum coursing just beneath her skin, pulsating in synch with every beat her heart struck. This was not the cool tingle of curative magic nor the furry sensation of status altering spells. The sword she'd acquired -- Save the Queen? -- emitted a warm glow that was at once white and blues and reds and though Beatrix felt no less exhausted, it filled her with the satisfaction of just living, gave her an incredible inner peace. She was the indomitable mountains, the boundless ocean, the eternal sky.

And then, when she felt certain the white light one saw when dying was just like this, Stock Break sprung from Save the Queen. Instantly, the soldiers fell face down, abandoning javelins and all else as they met the pavement. Life drained from her, Beatrix slumped to her knees, trying to stand and finish her task. Her sword desperately wanted to bury itself in their backs. Beatrix needed to give them that kind of dishonourable death.

The first rays of sun were beating back the shadows in the east. Soon, Alexandria would have light again.

Vision clouded, body went lax, eyes slid shut and the brunette connected with the cobblestones hard, face grudgingly accepting the abuse. Save the Queen, the final memory of a former life, slid from her hand. Needing that confirmation of Alexandria's existence as well as her own sanity, shaking fingers skimmed for the weapon in Beatrix's last lucid moments before she embraced darkness.

Alexandria would have light. Beatrix would not.

* * *

**Notes on the chapter: **

- These chapters just keep growing! And to think at one time I found it difficult to crank up 4000 words… Ah, sorry?

- Tribute to the battle arena of FFVII in Madelene's rallying speech. Help yourself to a gyshal pickle if you can pick it.

- I'm enjoying thinking up ridiculous ways to keep Steiner's hair concealed.

- Yes, Regent Cid VIII designed the first Mist-powered airships.

- And yes, the river Alexandria sits on is named Ceebell. Zidane points it out when looking through the telescope with Garnet. (Thanks for the correction, Kitsune.)

- As for different otherwordly figures (e.g. Thor, Lucifer) I'm drawing on many sources and, to put it bluntly, am mushing it all together. I'm such a sucker for mythology/religions that I can't help myself! So yes, while I'm aware FFIX already has a thunder god in Ramuh, I'm just expanding for the heck of it.

- Finally, if no one picked the somewhat enigmatic meaning of the chapter title I was referring to the missiles fired from the airships. The idea is that the Lindblumese douse them in oil, light them, and shoot. The effect is like stars falling from the sky. Mmm… poetic-ness.


	5. IV: Asphodel

**Chapter IV**  
_**Asphodel**_

_**

* * *

**_For a time, there was nothing, not even a void or a never-ending blackness. Whether this state of thoughtlessness lasted a long or short time, the knight could not say. After all, without the sun and moon as a guide who knows how long they have dwelt in the land of dreaming?

Then came the ache of remembrance, her body recalling the broken skin of lips, arms bruised after being crushed under someone's booted feet, pads on the ends of fingers glowing livid pink. Her legs, as Beatrix found by wriggling them, bore the worst of this persistent painful thrum, their muscles strung together in sailors' knots in a manner that wasn't at all conducive to standing. Unprotected as her legs were -- the military uniform must have been designed by a man with no consideration towards the fact female soldiers actually fought -- of all body parts they had received the most abuse. The criss-crossing lacerations patterned on those battle-weary limbs distorted oddly whenever she moved. Blue eyes creaked open to examine the extent of the damage, irritatingly bright sunlight making the task laborious, and Beatrix gingerly sat up, the bed's cushiony surface hindering her progress rather than easing her pain.

'_A bed? So then the battle is won. It must be, for Lindblum has no need of me and certainly would not offer comfort to an Alexandrian… unless they revive the old ways and take slaves, whom they may find amusement in or force to grant any of their desires… regardless of how abhorrent the request is…' _she discarded that train of thought as her sensitive eyes took in the spacious room, strategically placed ornaments and paintings complimenting equally elaborate furniture. For the first time, Beatrix noticed silken sheets of the softest hue of pink were spread beneath her and she couldn't resist running worn hands over them, relishing the smooth coolness of a zephyr solidified, assuring herself this was not some fantasy mixed in her head.

Tiredly, the brunette ventured to the twin windows admitting irksome light, various body areas complaining at different phases of the short trip. The skyline that greeted her was all clock towers and slow-crawling airships and machinery, a metropolis overflowing with life's movement on the edge of twilight. Clearing astray chestnut coloured tangles from her vision with a flick of her fingers -- she hoped a single eye was sending her false information and that utilising both would reap better results -- Beatrix fervently scanned the city anew. When Alexandria Castle didn't appear in place of the Fuegert Memorial Theatre, the brunette had to steady herself against the windowsill.

"Lindblum," she breathed, trying to find nonexistent sense in this truth as she stumbled backwards, eventually falling onto the bed. Practicality tried to placate the growing dread that was wringing her heart with such gusto she thought it may crumple, a dead little ball of black motionless behind its ribcage prison.

'_W-What am I doing here? __**Why **__am I in their castle, of all places? …Who in Gaia decided I should live…? What am I to be… subjected to?' _Taking in the entire chamber, which was hardly suitable for a prisoner of war, the expensive décor, the astounding view… the spacious bed dressed in sleek sheets… _'Oh, gods, no -- I cannot -- I would never… Gods!'_

Frantic, she sprung to the door, heedless of pain lancing throughout her injured self. The knob rattled mockingly in her hand, yet Beatrix yanked, twisted and threw her weight against the door's wooden panels, all of which came to nothing. And then she was hit with the appalling thought of: what if someone heard she had awakened? Jerking away from the object that whispered of her imprisonment, Beatrix floundered into a tall vase of flowers and accidentally knocked it from its pedestal, the tiled floor's hard surface breaking it into uneven puzzle pieces that she could never hope to mend. Red velvet floated in a growing sea, the spilt water spreading along the floor, taking rose petals with it.

The brunette tore her gaze away, tried to ignore the floral fragrance that was awkwardly soothing and leeringly sardonic, and bolted for the window. It was low enough that she could dangle out from waist up. Pushing herself up to the ledge were she could throw herself out would require little effort. The jagged rooftops and paved streets would welcome her if an airship did not halt her descent first, she surmised, her grip so tight her knuckles began mimicking the marble whiteness of the sill.

Beatrix watched the city's workings for a moment, internally struggling against those base emotions of fear and anxiety. And then, slowly shaking her head, the brunette let her hands fall to dangle listlessly by her side.

"I _am _a conceited little girl," she said aloud, "for believing myself courageous enough for this task," and she stepped away with the kind of final defeat that made her footfalls heavy. Not even able to die by her choosing as Madelene had; doomed to live a coward. The brunette turned her face from the setting sun's kiss -- she must have slept a while for her eyes to shun even that gentle glow -- in favour of her apartment, which was suddenly gaudy rather than beautiful. Like a child, Beatrix's attention was snared by the shiniest object in view.

A mirror.

Somehow, it was irregular, its platinum frame inlaid with silver curves, intricately arranged in a style that made no sense but didn't have to. The ethereal strangeness shining from within and without the mirror drew the brunette until she was close enough to see the true extent of its infinite detail, the way its glass surface at once looked as if it were moving then still. Etched into the flawlessly round frame were runes of old that no common folk would have the ability to read. An age ago, the trappings of high-class citizens had forced Beatrix into learning them. Decoding them took so long that her old tutor would have rapped her hands for abandoning practice, but the knowledge never truly left; she was certain her translation was accurate.

_-- The body may perish _

_but the spirit lives on --_

"How peculiar," she observed in undertones, tracing one of the winding lines, gratefully latching onto anything that could whisk her logic far away and make her forget her current predicament. However, when she gazed upon the mirror's surface Beatrix started at the not-reflection it displayed. Blonde hair pulled back severely to keep it from her face, Alexandria's ruby-studded sword firm in unwavering gloved digits and a tiny smile that never reached her eyes, which flickered with the dying embers of chill fire. Beatrix couldn't restrain herself from pressing a palm against the vision. "General…?" she asked and the figure clearly stared not through the brunette but _at _her. Beatrix pushed closer, hardly believing what lay before her and she clutched at the frame desperately, willing it to stop being nonsensical, begging its pictures to be real. Swirls of a nameless colour distorted Madelene's features and the mirror shifted. The former General faded away to be replaced by another woman.

Lengthy golden tresses flowing down her shoulders were enhanced by blue eyes dancing with the sky's feelings, all playing second fiddle to lips that were stern, yet looked as if they readily curved upwards in merry smiles. The shield and sword she carried along with her military livery did nothing to disguise her beauty as her hair was pushed from her eyes with a cursory flick of a wrist.

Her mother.

An impossibility to be sure, but the woman nevertheless stood there. Beatrix felt her mind become a blank canvas. The torrent of emotions welling inside her seemed to freeze, waiting patiently to shatter and spread cold shards throughout her body, to rip her inside out.

_Shift._

A round face framed by shoulder-length mouse-coloured hair and dark brown eyes above a faint smattering of freckles that played along her nose. Beatrix blinked in confusion. Now _this _woman, she was certain she had never lain eyes on before.

_Shift._

This time, a tiny girl with a head of raven hair. The royal pendant of Alexandria hung round her delicate neck whilst huge caramel orbs shone brightly with the curiosity of the young.

'_That's… How could - So then Alexandria is…?'_

Grinning, the girl spun a happy circle, waving her arms in a manner that spoke of daydreams about flying chocobos or silver dragons.

…No. That was_** not**_ Her Highness!

Hands clenching even tighter around the mirror's edging, Beatrix hurled it into the adjacent wall, cutting a ravine into its once-perfect surface, a path of brittle daggers seared into its awful beauty. A tremble determinedly worked its way through the brunette and she sunk onto the floor where she sobbed dryly, square tiles ice against her bare legs. Those people… they were all…

'_Dead. So much death… Not my princess, too…' _

She truly wanted to cry, but the weight of the situation somehow forbade this small release. Tears along with peace had abandoned her like a flock of white doves sailing away on silver wings to disappear into the horizon. So Beatrix just sat there quivering on a too-cold floor, embracing the thoughtlessness of grief.

* * *

'_**Promise we'll live to fight another day.' **_

'_**Don't flatter yourself.' **_

'…_**live to fight…' **_

'…_**to fight another day.' **_

'…_**promise…' **_

'…_**Go to **__sleep,__** Steiner.'**_

"…I'll not… comply…" he choked out along with old water that was constricting his lungs, eyes flying open to be greeted with a morning stretch of blue. Lying stationary for a moment, Steiner tried to find a method of breathing that didn't hurt. When that proved a hopeless endeavour he concluded it was time to stop being useless and return to Alexandria. He stood, ignoring his muscles' objections, and found himself ankle deep in the river, its watery volume enthusiastically invading his boots in an obvious attempt at rusting him to the spot.

Steiner cursed softly and fought his way to solid earth, struggling against the riverbed's annoying tendency to cave in at his every step, his soldier's eyes screening the immediate streamside area for monster threats. Finding none, he contented himself with pulling off his footwear, brusquely dumping its liquid contents onto the grass before giving his gauntlets the same treatment.

_Sploosh, _the water commented naughtily, making Steiner frown in consternation. How had he wound up on the edge of a river, soggy, covered in rubbery green reeds and ickiness? For a moment, terror overtook him, the prospect of memory loss still appearing very real in his view, but when he found the relevant files stored within his head the knight heaved a pleased sigh. Lindblumese lancers had shoved him into the Ceebell as he'd been defending…

…he'd been protecting Beatrix. Surprised, Steiner dutifully trawled his recollections to ascertain the truth of this.

'_**Unhand him or you will suffer the most terrible of consequences.'**_

And his rival had returned the favour.

'_Don't be daft; it was the proper thing to do. In war, one doesn't discriminate or pick off one's own allies. I was merely trapped and she… Why couldn't I fight?'_

As if on cue, his shoulder flared pure agony and though the spear was absent, washed away by the river's deceptive currents, the wound was still open. This angry pocket of no-flesh made moving his arm even slightly a chore he was loath to complete.

Using his good arm, he upturned his (seemingly _unluckily feathered_) helmet, which through some remarkable streak of luck had remained upon his head, and forced a tiny green fish to forfeit its current home. Flopping sulkily to the ground, it rained droplets onto the unhappy knight, further souring his mood. Steiner sniffed -- he reeked of aquatic animals and reedy water vegetation and river's bottom -- and spared the fish a disdainful glare, which did nothing to discourage its gallant flapping. "You're only exhausting yourself," he told it, then realised madness had truly set in if he was indeed conversing with an animal (and for the second time in less than a day at that).

Frown deepening at this unwelcome thought, the Lieutenant grasped the squirming evictee with both hands -- the one that had been impaled seemed to whinge audibly -- and taking care to inhibit it from floundering away, he tossed it into the gurgling river. No need to kill it, too.

Fingers subconsciously went for his sword to remind himself he was well-guarded, but they closed around air. Groaning, Steiner unbuckled the shoulder strap that held his scabbard firm against his back and sure enough, his only weapon had been washed away, another victim in another war. Scrubbing at eyes sore from the water's invasion didn't help matters -- nothing appeared in the case, sword or otherwise. The pom-pom end of his nightcap fell into his face and Steiner was flooded with mortification upon realising he'd been wearing it throughout the battle.

"I don't even need Beatrix's help to act the fool. I do quite an admirable job of it on my own," he mumbled, angry, and yanked the stupid thing off. After some consideration, he stomped on it for good measure before regaining the self-control that had momentarily fled him and for the first time, Steiner tried to work out where the blasted river had taken him.

This was hardly a difficult task. While the Ceebell near Alexandria flowed quickly courtesy of the city's proximity to the waterfall, Steiner had not been dragged over the black rocks and white water of the rapids, nor had he tumbled down the actual falls, thank Alexander. If that had been the case, the armoured one surely would have been wandering the fields of Elysium instead of un-flooding his lungs and purging his clothing of fishy invaders. Or taking into account Fate's sense of humour, he'd probably be trudging through the eighth circle of hell or as it was more aptly named, Evil Forest. Images of slimy tentacled plants and huge spiders with oversized fangs that would readily pierce soft flesh, the sort that friends enjoyed discussing over a mug of ale, flashed through his mind and Steiner suppressed a shudder. While his bug phobia may have left others in guffawing stitches, it kept Steiner away from the medical variety. Creepy-crawlies were, after all, the most dangerous of creatures, what with their tendency to slip unannounced between bed sheets or into defenceless shoes, remaining hidden until they spied a finger or toe to nibble on, plunge fangs into, spray toxin over, infect with warts…

Still day-nightmaring, the Lieutenant began the long walk back to his hometown, pulling his plume-less helmet back on again (it's absence made him feel decidedly unluckier). Now that he stopped to listen, even still-waterlogged ears could pick out the faint ring of weapons furiously meeting accompanied by louder yells. Grimly, he wondered how Alexandria was faring against Lindblum's unending onslaught.

"I'm coming, my Queen!" he boldly declared to no one, refastening his soaked scabbard. The thought of the Royal Family in danger should have been as disheartening as Alexandria under siege, but in actuality it only served to spur Steiner on. It was time to prove himself, to repay his country's kindness, to apologise for ever having doubted his commanders.

Steiner ran.

* * *

Crumpled on the floor like a piece of discarded parchment and only slightly less dirty, Beatrix's head throbbed from its lengthy excursion into misery so much that when the soft notes of a piano's prelude drifted to her ears the drifting music was almost lost to her. Yet the brunette had never been noisy in her sorrow, meaning the tune touched some part of her inner soul enough to lift her head and make the knight tilt it towards the door, for that was from whence the sound came. Imagine her surprise upon discovering her prison's entrance was not sealed, but actually ajar in a way that permitted a slit of light to enter the shadowy enclosure. When darkness had fallen, Beatrix hadn't bothered to light any candles.

Despite a childhood spent in her parents' House undergoing proper tuition to become a noblewoman delicate enough to reel in a man with gil spilling from his pockets, Beatrix by no means enjoyed music. Certainly, it was all-around pleasant enough and the art required great talent -- the instrumentalists were unquestionably skilled, weaving emotions into powerful pieces, conveying happiness with the strum of guitar strings or trill of a flute -- or so she was told. Beatrix could respect musicians, but she could find no deeper meaning in a page full of semi-quavers, treble clefs and crescendos. Those prone to buy tickets for orchestral performances persisted that there was endless emotion to be found in the simplest songs, but plainly put, this was a language Beatrix couldn't understand. And she disliked what she could not separate into blacks and whites.

As usual, this melody left no picture, only empty space.

…And at the same time, it was _different…_

Funnily enough, it was the piano's sound, not the prospect of escape, that lured her to the doorway the same way the twin moons dictated the ocean's tides, sidestepping the miserable puddle of flowery water and chunks of vase on her way. Beatrix halted then, one hand raised to take the doorknob and widen the gap, fingers shaking at the effort of staying steady.

'_This was closed before, closed and firmly locked. Someone wants to help, or more likely, bait me. But why? …Whatever the reason, it's hardly important. The door is open. The question is, dare I even contemplate escape…?'_

It was a question worth answering.

The brunette brushed hair from her face, quietly observing the scene in hopes of some heavenly sign to direct her course. Upon receiving none, her palm pressed forward to tentatively open the way. Light instantly swept into the room, momentarily making her eyes crease against the speckled white noise whirling across her vision, a multitude of stars dissolving as she watched on. Taking a breath, Beatrix stepped out into the hallway without ceremony or caution. A quailing heart she may have, yet there was little point in disguising her intentions; this was such an obvious set-up that there were probably armed guards attentively awaiting any excuse to claim her life. The thought wasn't terribly discouraging.

Guards didn't pounce the moment she emerged from the bedroom's confines, movements strangely awkward from attempted pain evasion. The carpet runner, its dizzying decorative fabric muffling whatever noise footsteps would make, helped keep Beatrix's secret as she began venturing out, With each step, the concerto grew louder until joy at her lack of Lindblumese watchers was belied by the realisation that she was following the piano's song -- a crazy decision to be sure, but one that had been reached by default. A glance behind confirmed the passage was a one-way affair with no visible adjoining rooms.

Her feet had taken her to the gaping archway at the end of the hall where carved stone falcons stared accusingly, cruel beaks promising fell times to come, eyes without pupils searing into and past the knight whilst wordlessly saying, 'You have no business here.' Resolution to remain calm was offset by this intrusion and Beatrix clapped a hand over the closest statue's unsettling eyes, ignoring the other as she peered into the open chamber spread before her.

Tall windows climbed up the farthest wall, providing glimpses of the night sky and freedom beyond so tantalisingly out of reach. The blackness sharply contrasted with the golds and yellows and reds of the room itself, each colour intermingling with the other as if natural. Portraits of deceased Cids cluttered up the walls, picturing the evolution of the infamously oversized moustache; an antique coffee table that looked of Alexandrian make was being boxed in by equally impressive chairs; exotic blooms and greenery added a much-needed touch of nature to the mechanical artificiality of the city itself -- all the objects suited for a castle sitting room. Simply put, it was beautiful.

Yet its considerable depths served to swallow any heat emanating from the crackling fire, pale candlelight caused shadow puppets to dance upon walls that seemed to bend inward and the crimson carpet was an odd mockery of blood. Slits of windows looked like narrowed dragon's eyes, their unblinking challenge more unsettling than those of the statues.

However, most unsettling of all was the centre of the chamber. Or, to be more exact, the person occupying it. Situated on a raised dais, this man's fingers traversed the ivory and ebony labyrinth of the grand piano, sleek blackness shining in candles' light,

Certain as Beatrix was that she made no noise, she balked when the music ceased and the player swivelled to greet her, lengthy silver tresses edging further down his back as he casually cocked his head. The male's alabaster face, framed by a kind of feathery hair that she hadn't seen on anyone else, was graced with twin orbs a shade deeper than midnight blue. Those eyes, furiously suppressed emotion blazing within them, easily found her slight frame, huddled as it was between the wall and the stone carving. Even with only these features to guide the knight, recognition violently tugged at Beatrix's mind, against her will drawing his name to her lips.

"King," it wasn't meant to be a curse, not when she risked offending him and losing hope of escape, but it was nonetheless venomous. This acidic poison with which she spoke would have eaten away at the finest blade and chewed right through to wielder's arm.

Slowly, very slowly, he parted his hair with a hand, slender fingers cutting through the locks as if they were liquid platinum. And he rose, stalked to her, a cat crossing a courtyard, and at his beckoning Beatrix found herself taking deliberate steps towards the hand he offered. Anyone, even this haughty noble, was welcome to the greater part of her now. Beatrix could find solace in familiarity, regardless of its source and of her own underlying hatred.

A beautiful smile parted his mouth, setting sparks alight in his eyes. And his voice, more silky than she recalled, still held a musical hum when he corrected her. "Not King. You shall call me Kuja, my dear Lady Rose," and his hand was covering hers, his sun-yearning skin pale even against her own.

She immediately wanted him to whisk her far, far away, to take her to fields of endless blue where she could dance under a tangerine sun. Absurd, yes, positively wild considering no such place existed, but Beatrix just had to get out.

However, apparently her logic (and maybe pride) refused her connection with this djinn. Beatrix gently pushed the intrusive arm away, willing herself to not flinch from his touch. Holding her tongue -- the pet name he'd bestowed her with was a particularly disliked one -- took considerably more effort than treated him courteously.

Kuja regarded his rejected limb, expressionless. "I always prefer the rose when it is budding new, but you only grow fairer each passing day. Servitude has doused none of your spirit, I see."

Beatrix snorted, the flattery meaningless and ill-aimed. "Each rose has thorns," she cautioned, then abandoned the beauty of poetic licence by bluntly adding, "and some are even accomplished swordswomen." The absence of her weapon, clearly removed from her possession upon being taken prisoner, did nothing to halt her substance-less warning. The best way past Kuja's guard, she had found, was by combining arrogance with a dispassionate demeanour. Even if both were merely feigned.

"Though I see this one is merely a woman, considerably lacking in swords."

Never missed a beat, did he?

Kuja smiled lazily, gesturing to the piano stool. Pointedly ignoring the invitation, the brunette chose to reply with, "_My sword_ was left buried in a Lindblumese officer's chest, last I saw," unashamedly proving her warrior's prowess though her heart, no longer tinged with a berserker's battle fury, quietly lamented those she had slain.

Or maybe that was inaccurate. She cared not for marauding murderers; it was more likely the cocktail of fear and sadness at her loss of innocence, of awakening to the fact that she had reached the end of the passageway to adulthood, that necessitated the boast. Now that Beatrix had killed, she had to quash whatever misgivings the act stirred in her.

'_Be strong. Soldiers aren't permitted to second-guess themselves.'_

When the brunette had reigned in these undesired feelings, had firmly tethered them to the hulking stone that had rooted itself in her chest, she looked to Kuja. The anticipated witty retort was oddly absent, in its place a sincerely mystified expression crinkling the silver-haired one's face.

Believing him to be teasing her, Beatrix gave a stiff shrug of annoyance, "What?"

"But you arrived with a weapon," he supplied. "You were clutching Save the Queen as if its rightful place was in your hand."

'_That's right… Save the Queen…I was…'_

"…wielding it…"

Kuja blinked at that, startled into asking, "Pardon?" in a tone bordering on uncharacteristically genuine curiosity. Taking into account the man's usually demanding personality, the complete 180˚ change in manner caught her by surprise.

Realising she had spoken aloud, Beatrix amended, "I was fighting with Save the Queen."

He considered her then, like some new facet of Beatrix had unexpectedly made itself known. Intense eyes scanned her soldier's attire as he muttered, "…Though you are not general."

"No. I'm not." she deadpanned, praying whatever was damming back the torrent of emotions swirling within held. Kuja's quiet fierceness reminded her of their youth, of what she had escaped but not fended off. Where could she run now? What if he…?

She decided to ask the obvious question first: "Why should this matter?"

"Because," Kuja answered, "they think you are Madelene."

* * *

After running for an hour (it had to have been _at least_ an hour, surely!) Lieutenant Steiner concluded he was further from Alexandria than he'd thought. Wounds bleeding anew paired with quickly diminishing adrenalin resulted in wheezes, necessitating the knight to slow his pace considerably until he was moving at a sluggish trot.

_**'You're not very fast for an officer, Lieutenant.'**_

This irritating memory elicited a groan from lips that begged for the cool caress of river water. He felt stretched to the limit, like a balloon filled with too much air, ready to burst from pressure before accomplishing his task. Then again, he was more akin to a deflated balloon, all substance having abandoned him, morphing his frame into a deflated shell of his true self.

Reverting to a brisk walk, he resigned himself to the music he was creating: _Creech. _Huff. _Creech. _Puff. _Creech. _Huff…

In the otherwise silent surroundings, Steiner supposed he was rather loud.

…Okay, maybe not just loud. He was downright noisy. So it was, it came as no surprise when Steiner (in all his clanking, squeaking and rusty glory,) found himself surrounded by a batch of less-than-pristine hooligans, a mismatched assortment of weapons to go with their diverse ages. An old fellow with a dirty white beard hanging to his waist was brandishing what appeared to be a rolling pin and a younger man carried a butcher's cleaver. Their armament was bared clumsily, presenting the perfect picture of unease when compared to a well-drilled knight.

Ever quick to react, Steiner unsheathed his blade…

…which was doing a fantastic job of, ah, being invisible.

His captors' eyebrows rose in bewilderment at the air sword Steiner presented, clearly wondering whether this was some unknown technique. When nothing happened, the men's confusion only deepened.

"Whaddaya want, rat?" a boy of about ten years snarled, going so far as to poke at Steiner's armour with an oh-so-dangerous-looking broomstick.

Insulted, Steiner said, "I have no desire to address someone who refers to me as 'rat'," and was rewarded with another degrading prod. The small group crowded in on him, swallowing up any gaps between them in order to create a tightly-meshed circle of imprisonment. Understanding there was no logical way he could escape, the armoured one relented. "Adelbert Steiner," he allowed, retaining his rank and nationality as an act of defiance rather than for strategic purposes.

Recognition lit the boy's eyes. "From the Knights of Pluto?" he queried, already lowering his guard.

"Yes!" Steiner declared.

"Hush now, Ryan," another man said, directing a scathing glare at the boy, who returned the challenge with double intensity. Turning back to Steiner without properly quelling Ryan, the man said, "Now unless you can give us some kind of proof, we're gonna have to run you into the river or sumthin'."

The Lieutenant floundered, "Er, well, um… Her Majesty's favourite dish is fried bat."

"Everyone knows that," the man growled, raising his butcher's cleaver.

Sweating, "And the princess likes peach pudding!"

"Old news."

This time, the slow burn of disgruntlement that had been mounting in Steiner's belly burst into flames of raging anger. Gesticulating wildly, Steiner cried, "For the love of Alexander! You imbeciles better let me free, else I'll have no choice but to run _you _into the blasted river! Of all the idiotic, foolhardy people I could stumble upon, you, my good sirs, are surely the finest Gaia has to offer! I have a right mind to --"

"Oh, I know that voice," the man said meekly, putting down his weapon. "It's that loud fellow."

"The one who got petrified?" another asked.

"No," put in the beardful elderly man, head shifting solemnly from side to side, "That was the woman. He's the one that's afraid of oglops."

"Excuse me?" Steiner managed, mortified that the exploits he and Beatrix shared in were branded public property, even if their names were unknown. It was hardly the renown he had hoped for when signing up to defend his country.

"Screams like a girl, apparently."

"Excuse me," Steiner interjected, barely swallowing his indignity (for there was a lot of it). As one, the group redirected their stares towards the object of their discussion, seemingly startled at finding him there. Finding their consideration unsettling, the knight shifted nervously. "Ah, pardon my asking, but what are you all doing here?" After all, anywhere remotely in the vicinity of Evil Forest was a poor location, the plant-insect infestation and generally creepy landscape scaring most would-be campers away. Come to think of it, why anyone chanced a visit to a place dubbed "evil" was beyond Steiner's reckoning.

Grey Beard raised an eyebrow, "Why, we're refugees, of course! Only just escaped before those high and mighty Lindblumese broke into our town."

Steiner's heart plummeted down to his soggy boots. If the town's walls were breached, Alexandria was taken. Lindblum was in prime position to storm the castle -- it was no fortress; it would not hold -- or they could wait and starve out its occupants. Either way, Alexandria was doomed.

'…_No, I mustn't assume the worst, even if it is the most plausible outcome. I owe Alexandria too much to lay down arms now.'_

He had no idea who he was pleading with, but the knight wrung his hands anyway. "There must be -- Surely there is some -- We must fight them!"

Instead of rallying the outcasts, the valiant assertion caused the once-tight circle enclosing him to disperse. Grey Beard, sporting a dejected expression, sighed wistfully and said, "You couldn't get into town anyway. I hear they're only letting Lindblumese in now." A gnarled old hand moved to pat Steiner on the shoulder, but there was little consolation in the gesture.

Before he could concoct a suitable answer for that unpleasant revelation, screeching metal on metal drifted to Steiner's ears, a sound quickly followed by yellings and cries.

"We've been discovered, then," Grey Beard murmured as if he'd been expecting it all along. "Alexander help us."

Steiner thought of the untrained and under-prepared batch of 'warriors' he had encountered. If Lindblumese were attacking, they would be decimated.

Struck by the sudden urge -- no, an essential _need_ to aid his poor countrymen, Steiner face the elder man. "It appears I shall need a weapon," he said.

Grey Beard handed him a pitchfork.

'_Adelbert Steiner, you certainly know how to pick your fights.'_

* * *

"They believe I'm Madelene?" the knight repeated, testing the words for some hidden message. Her companion looked offended at the note of doubt in Beatrix's voice though he made no effort to reaffirm the statement. _'Typical arrogant…'_

This time, the brunette let herself sink onto the piano stool. She had never entertained this incredibly crazy notion; possible outcomes of her capture hadn't included mixed identities based on borrowed swords. Did none of them know what Madelene looked like?

Evidently not. Beatrix supposed her general killed most enemies who laid eyes on her.

"Cid won't be pleased when he sees a rose in place of his lion and unless you have what he seeks, not even a minute chance remains that your heart will be beating once the sun rises on the morrow."

Knowing she would be giving the male his desired reaction, Beatrix couldn't help but say, "'Pet'? 'What he seeks'? King, what is happening here?"

A tiny smirk appeared on his lips then -- Kuja was clearly enjoying playing the puppeteer -- whilst he sunk to his knees before her. Pale hands enveloped Beatrix's own in a kind of cool warmth that minded her of a summer breeze, driving hitherto retained knowledge of him away. The pleasant contact warred with his self-assured expression, which didn't quite become a kind confidant, yet was simply _Kuja_.

"Your petals are not so white as they once were," he told her in undertones. The woman pursed her lips, the barest hint at offence, understanding all too well the meaning of his comment. White. Innocence.

"I am no flower," she returned, but the remark held no bite.

"Come with me, Beatrix," he lilted, eyes lifting to connect with hers as a final, definite crossing of the boundaries years had erected. "Be _my_ knight. Together, we can leave this place."

Even after their time apart, Beatrix had seen it coming, had known he would try something along those lines (for Kuja's wishes were always granted). Still, his choice of words was something of a shock. What her father wouldn't give to see her accept the offer...

"King…"

"Kuja."

"I…"

"…can't?"

"That's right."

"…Not even to save yourself?"

A deep breath, "_Especially_ not to save myself."

A resigned exhalation, "I understand."

Somehow, his eyes could not convince her of that last statement. He truly appeared a flower when in actuality he was the serpent beneath those delicate petals.

Relinquishing his grip on the knight's perspiring hands, the platinum-headed noble stood. Heavily booted feet clicked against the wood-floored dais before being stifled by the carpet's rich body. Beatrix couldn't watch him go. For all his poetic claptrap and romantic suggestions, Kuja was by nature apathetic, nearly otherworldly in his coldness. The brunette had witnessed firsthand the extent of his wrongdoings, his disregard for those less fortunate than he.

Yet she knew if she watched him leave, there was that ever-slight chance she would follow.

"Farewell, Lady Rose. Parting is such sweet sorrow," Kuja intoned after a time, clichéd to the very last.

Beatrix waited a few moments herself -- until she was certain he had left -- and then murmured, "Goodbye, King."

It was dark outside.

* * *

"Push harder!" one of the young men beneath him hissed, seeming to believe they couldn't shove Steiner over the wall merely because they weren't trying. Not for the first time, the knight cursed his misfortune at being greeted by a sharp witted gate guard -- he had seen straight through the suit of armour Steiner had acquired from the Lindblumese search party. Granted, it was a little tight around the chest and Steiner _had _jabbed the guy with his lance (not on purpose, of course! Why anyone with brain matter invented such ungainly items was beyond him, though.)

Ah, if only things worked as they did in Lord Avon's sagas!

But in retrospect, it was better this way. This newly construed plan enabled all the escapees to take part in the liberation of Alexandria (for Steiner's generous aid during the Lindblumese attack had convinced them to take up arms). Indeed, Steiner and co. had construed a brilliant, fabulous, intelligent, creative plan of action.

Well, maybe clambering over town walls wasn't _creative_… but it seemed to be working. Why replace the wheel that's turning perfectly?

"Quiet!" Steiner barked at the large group, trying and failing to keep his own voice soft. The activity in town should have covered up whatever pained groans they emitted, but after the trouble it had taken to find a suitably injured place for wall scaling, Steiner was loath to ruin their chances now.

Gloved hands gropingly found the top of the rocky fencing. After heaving himself up (his shoulder had flared up again at that), Steiner shuffled around to help the other ones: two cousins, a couple of years younger than the Lieutenant himself, who responded to the names of Dojebon and Moser. Even though the ledge was a little narrow for the big knight and the pair were decked out in identical uniforms, hefting them up was easier than he'd anticipated and within moments the trio were looking over the remains of Alexandria.

Buildings closest to the walls' solid protection were fairly unscathed, but those beyond were damaged to the point of complete destruction by catapulted stones and fire. A surge of relief entered Steiner once his eyes rested on the castle and inner city, which for the most part had escaped sans holes in doors or charcoaled roofs. Alexandria Castle was also without adequate Lindblumese guardians -- clearly, the antagonists believed that holding the city was enough and they needn't waste manpower on watching barred doors that would eventually have no choice but to open in surrender.

"Cid always was overconfident," Steiner muttered to himself, squinting against the almost-set sun's glare.

Dusting himself off, Dojebon queried, "How'll we get in?"

The knight applied a hand to his chin. Numerous suggestions had been made regarding that topic -- some even included walking directly over and pounding on the door -- but nothing had been decided. Too-steep walls and high risk of exposure meant climbing was out of the question. They could try for the sewerage system, but those obvious courses weren't really working today.

"Um, I didn't wanna say anything before, what with peasants' codes and you being a knight and all…" Moser scratched at his head uneasily, still unsure whether to share his treasure-like knowledge or not."

"For goodness' sake, man, the Princess' life depends on this!"

Balking slightly at the outburst, the blushing man muttered, "Well, there's this secret rooftop route that we poorer folk use. You know, for seeing plays and stuff."

Mulling over the comment whilst he absently viewed an airship taking off -- was that Cid? -- uncertainty threatened to do away with Steiner's good sense. Everyone knew peasants' methods were unpolished, unsafe and pretty much doomed to failure, and being unwilling to accept advice at the best of times meant Steiner was even more hesitant now.

…but what choice did he have?

"We wait till cover of dark, then we help everyone else up. After that, you lead the way," Steiner grudgingly gave his instructions, simultaneously offering prayers for deliverance to the Eidolons.

* * *

She didn't sleep that night.

With the wave of shadow that was trying its best to engulf her, to flood her lungs until she choked on despair, she couldn't accept the refuge of slumber. Beatrix simply sat on her fast-becoming-customary place on the floor, doing her utmost to stopper the milky thoughts floating in her mind's eye. The plate of food someone had fetched her sat untouched, the fashionable pasta dish having gone cold. Even had Beatrix paid it a glance, she would have rejected it. The herbal stink of bolognaise made her sick.

Presently (for it seemed quick to Beatrix), there came a knocking at her door. Beatrix lifted her head, discovered it was entirely black outside her window, and blankly called, "Come in."

"Ma'am?" began the head that popped round the edge of the doorframe, "His Excellency will receive you now."

If her behaviour struck this lowly footman as odd, he forwent all comment. Beatrix collected herself best she could before letting him lead her down the long corridor with its unnerving falcon statues, past the piano and along a new passageway that lead to a cage-like elevator. The mechanism served to enhance Beatrix's feelings of entrapment, though she too was unwilling to voice her opinions.

_Cuuur-unck._ The prison slowly ascended, emitting only the sounds of well-oiled gears as it took her up, up.

Another _cuuur-unck _later, she found herself outside the huge double doors of Regent Cid VIII's throne room, the inlaid motifs of falcons with massive beaks and cruelly curved talons smirking at her.

"Regent Cid will see you now," one of the guards announced, and the doors opened.

**("**_**They won't see us now. Let's go!" Steiner said. Slowly, quietly, he and Dojebon began making their way along the roofscape of Alexandria. Behind them, the other cousin reached down to help his comrades and soon the wall was practically lined with them.)**_

Beatrix entered the room, steps reverberating off the enclosed chamber's walls in a manner that made her sound braver than she felt. The Regent stood with his back to her, staring out the window at his horrible robotic city.

"You're late, General," said he.

Beatrix said nothing. Cid was obviously familiar with her general, and as such utilising her vocals would only betray her for the fraud they had made her out to be.

"I must say, I'm disappointed. You promised to fetch me the pendant before the attack. Instead, I find you here after more than a day's slaughter, a traitor to your crown and nothing to show for it."

'_Traitor?'_

Still neglecting to look at her, the Regent continued, "Or was the payment not high enough for you? …Greed is a sin, you know."

This… made no sense. Whichever general he had been conducting conspiratorial whisperings with was certainly not Madelene. Not the honourable woman who by her blood had played guardian to the Waterfall City through wartime and peace.

Not the woman Beatrix wanted to become.

"I trust you have my pendant?"

Stunned, she wordlessly asked, _'What… what's so special about the Royal Pendant?'_

Realising there was no way to avoid this directness, the Alexandrian settled for, "I'm sorry. General Madelene fell."

**("**_**Don't fall!" Dojebon cautioned, navigating the precarious thin shakiness of the wooden plank. Steiner mentally noted to have this route severed once it had served its greater purpose. Taking a breath -- he'd never been particularly fond of putting his life in danger -- the knight moved bravely forward, not daring to peek behind at the steady procession of refugees behind him.)**_

The tall man spun to face her, bird-like eyes reflecting a confusion that altered into anger at being duped. "Who...? What… is the meaning of this?" he fiercely demanded, moustache quivering as he flung a pointed finger in her direction. The words came out disjointed, almost like he couldn't function when presented with candid opposition.

A coward at heart.

Fuelled by fury at hearing her general insulted, Beatrix flew at him with a snarl. Sore limbs blazed raw emotion as arms and legs rained a barrage of violent blows. Her fingers buried themselves into something repulsively soft, ripping a stricken scream from the regent.

"Guards!" Cid's voice, high-pitched and frantic.

A team of soldiers, uniforms blaringly spotless, swarmed onto the scene with their weapons at the ready. Shock numbed them for some moments before one plunged into the fray. Desperate, just wanting to kill them all, Beatrix lifted an arm to dodge his stab. As the spear passed through empty air between her side and raised arm, the knight spun to grab it. Surprised at the manoeuvre, the lancer was easily overpowered with a brutal shove, recovering only to find a fresh wound in his stomach.

Unable to escape the room, for the battle was being decided straight before the exit, Cid scrambled to take cover behind his throne. "Kill her!" he screeched desperately, over and over and over, his face a bloodied mess of eyeballs' remnants.

Beatrix kicked the next one, sending him stumbling into the rest of the group, before running towards the regent's hiding niche. Grabbing him by the lapels of his rich crimson jacket, she bellowed, "Shut _up!_" and then her spear's point disappeared inside his chest. And then, as if some great weight had been lifted from her -- or perhaps she had received more -- Beatrix ceased fighting.

_**(Racing along corridors, Steiner lead the platoon towards the throne room. His sworn duty as a Pluto Knight -- to protect the princess no matter the payment -- was about to be fulfilled. He would save the raven-headed child and remove the vile invaders.**_

_**(The knight took the final corner at a speed startling considering his size, for once forgoing all formality to simply burst into the throne room and cry, "Your Highness! Your Majesty! I have returned.")**_

Hands snatched at hair, bootlaces, material coloured anew, and with no protest Beatrix was dragged away. Vaguely, she was aware of men attempting to resuscitate the regent, slumped motionless against the gilded seat he had once held claim to, torn face staring with empty eye sockets.

_**(The Queen sat dejectedly in her throne, her bulk seeming to have transcended 'plump' as it appeared to meld into the seat. She was not yet defeated though; at Steiner's proclamation, Brahne lifted her head to consider him and the beings coming in after him.**_

**("**_**Steiner?" came the Princess' tiny voice, vulnerable and yet somewhat cheered.**_

**("**_**You brought… these men?" Queen Brahne tested the words, seemingly unwilling to try her luck.**_

**("**_**We are yours to command," Steiner confirmed with an ardent salute.)**_

Her wrists were bound tightly with rope then shackled to the dungeon's walls. The dank interior was a far cry from the bedchamber they had first placed her in. For the first time, Beatrix wanted to eat her meal, no matter how much it made her want to vomit.

**("**_**At dawn, they break down the doors.")**_

**("**_**Dawn? But that's… only a few hours…")**_

**("**_**If you want to help your country, you will be needed to hold them back.")**_

Hours passed, each made longer by the eternally oppressive dark of her prison. Exhausted from her standoff, Beatrix's body remained limp, the cruel iron cuffs biting into swollen wrists and ankles. On occasion they rattled metallically to remind her how entirely she was trapped. The chains refused her body's attempts at lying down to die.

And then, a man appeared, the curved dagger he carried glinting wickedly in mage-light springing from his other hand. He was accompanied by three other men, all clothed in officer's garb.

"Regent Cid is dead," one told her, emotionless.

_**(The doors creaked again under the impact of the battering ram, small splinters appearing on the faces of etched-in soldiers. The wood, it wouldn't hold. Not long now…**_

_**(Steiner's hands slipped on the sword he'd retrieved from the armoury, his sweaty palms making normally tight-fitting gauntlets slippery, easy to shift. Another attack and horizontal slits cut into the barrier between Lindblum and Alexandria; another, the slits became holes.)**_

**('**_**Not long now…' he inwardly conceded.)**_

Beatrix remained silent. Her voice wouldn't work, anyway.

"Don't think you'll be executed," he continued, a note of venom seeping into his tone, "His Excellency wouldn't want you made a martyr. No, you will die right here. Eventually."

Suddenly, warm cotton balls of air clogged up her throat, constricting the muscles until they were completely frozen. Beatrix opened her mouth to gasp, but of course, the Silence spell rendered her efforts futile. She felt her head roughly pulled backwards, saw the knife-point gradually descend to trace lines of molten fire along the underside of her chin, up her bruised cheeks, along the contours of her face…

**("**_**For Alexandria!" he screamed as the doors were torn asunder, charging headlong into glorious battle. If he died here, it would be a good death.)**_

…into her eye…

**('**_**But I can't die! Not with everyone depending on me.')**_

Agony exploded, angry black snakes, the sharp burst of flame making all hitherto experience pain blessedly preferred. And she wanted to scream -- oh, how she wanted to scream! -- and she wanted to cry but she had been robbed of both privileges, and everything faded to a mish-mash of red haze as the fire blazed, burning ever brighter, the molten rush of a supernova. A moment of respite as the blade was withdrawn, a horrible squelching sound filling her ears in the eerie silence, void of even her own screams. "Know pain, bitch!" another man hissed and then the pointed thing was lowered again, towards her other eye, her entire world narrowing to the knife's tip. Inert in terror's grip, she could only watch helplessly as the metallic sliver moved towards her, impossibly close.

"Urgh!" the blade wielder suddenly grunted, spinning wildly to the mould-wet ground. That wraithlike washed-out light flickered before being joined by brightness of a different kind: a ball of liquid fire, which crashed into another guard and exploded with all the sun's fiery radiance. Another awful gurgling sound, the unmistakable collapse of a body, and then the soft ghostly glow grew stronger, illuminating the features of her rescuer. He took in her form, undoubtedly stark white after walking the tightrope separating the Living and the Dead for so long. Eyes resting on her face, he exhaled, "Death's pale flag has not advanced here yet," before clasping her cheeks and casting Curaga and Dispel in succession. The pain subsided as her skin knitted itself together, closing over each wound, and her voice returned.

Regenerated, Beatrix focused on eyes a not-so-questionable shade of blue. "…Thank-you," she murmured, her voice strangely cold and controlled. Yet for some reason, she wasn't grateful at all.

"Every lady needs her thorns," Kuja smiled as he passed her Save the Queen.

* * *

**Notes on the chapter: **

- Tiny tribute to FFX-2 ( "On silver wings," lyrics from 1000 Words.)

- Events in IV aren't presented in chronological order. Just to clarify, Steiner and Beatrix both awaken on the same day, but Steiner wakes in the morning whereas Beatrix wakes in the evening.

- As with my alterations to Darkside in the previous chapter, the reflections of the dead in Une's Mirror are entirely my invention.

- Technically, Kuja is only fifteen/sixteen at this point. However, I think it's unfair judge him on age: genomes seem to be "born" adult-sized and have a far greater capacity for learning than normal people, so it's not as if Kuja is a child. There's no evidence to suggest he didn't visit Gaia and establish his wealth in Treno _before_ dumping Zidane with Tantalus either. (Besides, he was just begging to be written into this!)

- "Parting is such sweet sorrow." - as everyone should know, taken from Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet._ I couldn't resist giving Kuja such an overused line.

- "Death's pale flag…" - taken from _Romeo and Juliet._

- "He truly appeared a flower…" - variation of a line from _Macbeth._ ("Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under it.")

- Finally, to highlight the significance of the chapter title: _asphodel_ was often placed on graves in days gone by as it was believed to be the food of the gods. Mixed with other ingredients, it creates an elixir of immortality (Greek mythology, I believe.) I used it because obviously war results in many fatalities, deaths of beloveds and such, but there is the more subtle meaning. After all, other things "died" in this chapter, too.


	6. V: Tabula Rasa

_The house is mouldering stone by stone,  
The garden-walks are overgrown;  
The flowers are low, the weeds are high,  
The fountain-stream is choked and dry,  
The dial-stone with moss is green,  
Where'er the Rose of May is seen._

-- from **ROSE OF MAY **by Mary Howitt (1799 - 1888)

* * *

**Chapter V**  
_**Tabula Rasa**_

_**

* * *

**_The wind was cool against her eyeless face.

Later -- much, much later -- she would sit down and marvel at her ability to remain numb to everything, like an icy glacier carved into some semblance of a woman. Alexandria was under attack by a leaderless country, her princess was dead, the murder of Cid VIII fell squarely on her shoulders, General Madelene had committed suicide and here she was in the company of a madman, riding his pet silver dragon whilst cold wisps of wind bit into her cheeks. The sensation was doubly uncomfortable against the heightened sensitivity of freshly healed skin.

The beast below her moved gracefully, slicing through the orange-stained sky. The one behind her, arms firmly barricading in her lithe form, had elected to stay silent for the duration of the flight. Beatrix was grateful to him for that, if nothing else. Had her courage failed her all those years ago, was this what her path through life would have led to? Fanciful flights, two hearts beating to the rhythm of a song without words?

In any case, that fantastic future was already behind her.

When they reached Alexandria, the sun's yellow dome was a full length above the horizon. "Mind yourself," was all the warning the brunette received before feather-covered muscles squirmed beneath her, the majestic creature's wings stretching taut and they began their spiralling descent. As they travelled closer towards the city, buildings revealed themselves to be beaten and tinged charcoal black, Lindblumese pikemen patrolling the boundaries of the somewhat-deconstructed walls. However, amongst the dreary destruction the Sword of Alexander still shone with untold strength, the blade catching the sun's brilliant rays to create a dazzling dance of light. Beatrix's homecoming may have been without medallion presentations or confetti, but that was beside the point. This town was all she had. She would set it free.

Crumbling structures rose to hail her in a gloomy greeting, the dragon flying so dangerously low that its wingtips brushed buildings as they rushed by. The not-quite-patterns of the paved streets played tricks on her eyes -- eye, she grimaced -- and induced dizziness, making her feel like an airship's propeller was spinning within her head. Abruptly tearing her gaze from the nauseating display, Beatrix found herself hovering before Alexandria Castle, where a fierce conflict was being decided below her. At a demanding roar from the silver dragon, the Lindblumese pikemen glanced up, fear growing in their eyes. Uttering curses, they quickly backed off, some dropping their weapons in their hurry. The Alexandrians, equally frightened, hastened to drag their wounded inside.

After dispersing the aggressors for the moment, the dragon took its living cargo to the West Tower. Kuja's pet lighted easily on the structure's stony expanse, though the effort dislodged some of its feathers, which were promptly claimed by the spring wind. Kuja slid off and proffered a hand to Beatrix. She didn't even spare it a thought, dismounting unaided.

"They know you?" she asked when her feet were soundly on the ground.

"They have seen me in Lindblum, yes," Kuja replied, his arm dropping back. He had no need to raise his voice; the clamour of battle was far beneath them now. "They know I'm something of a favourite with Regent Cid."

"He has no favourites anymore," Beatrix replied absently, absorbed in assessing the damage done to the castle. Finding the tower fully intact, she asked offhandedly, "By the way, how comes it that Lindblum attacked earlier than we anticipated? Not to mention they had more than one vessel."

"You never saw those blueprints, did you?"

Slow blink. How did he know about _that?_

"From what I gather, it was your general who fawned over them."

Queen Brahne had insisted tacticians had studied the prints, not Madelene. But during their mission report, Steiner had handed the items directly to the General… What if Kuja was speaking true? What if Madelene had tampered with the information they had retrieved?

"And," Kuja went on, "did you also not find it odd that General Madelene would place _you_ -- an inexperienced child --in charge of such an operation?"

Beatrix brushed loose hair from her face -- considering her disfigured appearance, maybe its tendency to curl like that wasn't so bad -- and said quite definitely, "Again, you have my gratitude."

Kuja flashed her an unpleasant smile, bright eyes provoking. "You'll hear none of it, then?" he asked, clearly probing for a chink in her loyalties. Beatrix decided then that his were the most repulsive eyes she had ever happened upon.

Turning her back on him, the knight began her corkscrew journey down the turret. The sudden gust of air signifying Kuja's departure sent more feathers flying, the white plumes creating a kind of dry snow around her.

"Until next we meet, Joybringer," he said, voice strong against the wind.

At this latest moniker, keeping her face tranquil was an impossibility.

* * *

The audible intrusion, loud enough to seem deafening over the din of battle, succeeded in diverting Steiner's Parting the Water. Having only just barred the castle gates against a horde of antagonists, after stabbing and cutting and parrying and pretty much getting hurt all morning, Steiner was more than pleased when the Lindblumese began falling back. Somewhere amongst the havoc, he'd blundered into the forefront where he'd risked himself protecting his weary comrades-in-arms. Hence, he had a fine view of the gradually shrinking number of enemy troops.

Truthfully, the Alexandrians had only managed this far courtesy of Cid's sense of superiority. The man hadn't deemed it necessary to send in even a full platoon and the price of his grave underestimation had been paid in blood, which was now anointing the ground.

A tiny squad of seven was all that stood before him, two of their number having been slain previously. Steiner moved to dispatch these dregs, thrusting his weapon fiercely in a better coordinated Ironite's Rush. Halfway through, he was interrupted yet again as a wave of red energy sliced into the pitiful group. They stiffened for a second, staring awed at their torsos, before tumbling to the ground. The knight watched aghast as a pair of them, the ones that had taken the brunt of the assault, fell. Cleaved clean in two, the quartet of uneven body segments thudded upon hitting solid ground.

Experienced as he was, Steiner had never watched as someone was diced like a chunk of sausage. Turning, he was rendered momentarily speechless at the sight of Beatrix, Save the Queen in hand. The immediate thing that struck him was the gaping absence of her right eye, a loss that drove from him the feelings of disgruntlement and self-reproach that the sight of her typically engendered in him. Rather than become enraged, Steiner found himself overwhelmed with the absurd desire to apologise for falling into the damn river.

But then, they both had an aversion to the words,'I'm sorry.'

Taking in his battered image, Beatrix's solitary eye was enough to reflect the thought, _'You kept your promise.' _The small nod she directed him was more restrained than her usual degree of civility. Steiner wondered at her apathy.

Feeble rejoicings began breaking out around them as the remaining soldiers celebrated their victory. Many began the laborious task of retrieving the wounded, while others simply tried to master the art of standing up. Half-watching the scene around him, Steiner pushed a strained smile onto his face. He rewarded his rival's blatant stare with a, "Who were you expecting?" as means of testing the waters gently -- and found himself prodding at ice.

"…Her Majesty?" was all she said.

Still drawing in air in the aftermath of war, Steiner uttered a clipped sentence himself, "Safe."

"…and the Princess?"

"As well as can be expected," he obliged her, fully aware of a soldier's duty to his (or her) liege-lord (or lady).

As if the Mist had evaporated from her engine, Beatrix swayed unsteadily and her legs folded beneath her. Hands grasping the General's sword tight enough to turn her knuckles ghostly pale, her entire body quivered. Steiner blanched, having never seen the woman so spent, before recovering himself to go to her side.

Kneeling by his rival, Steiner spoke her name softly. Since he had no other choice, he permitted the brunette to slump against his frame. Exhaustion clearly ruled her if she let herself carry out such a crime, yet Steiner couldn't shake the feeling he was committing the greater sin by offering his services. After all, his previous attempt to save Beatrix's life had played out as an unhappy ending. Imagine her ire at being supported!

But regardless of the pranks he'd likely receive for the concerned gesture, Beatrix needed his aid. Chivalry demanded it. Though the woman refused to look up, the patch of skin between his shoulder and neck remained stubbornly dry. Beatrix was not one for tears -- Steiner was more certain of that now than he'd ever been -- but this affirmation still stung. Emotionless women didn't settle well with the Lieutenant.

As her breathing slowed into something bordering on regular, Steiner took her in his arms and began making his way to the medical ward. Beatrix was at once horribly thin and hard -- a piece of leather that had worn over years of ill treatment -- and for all the muscle-building training she endured she was surprisingly light. He supposed that was fortunate: had she been heavier, she would have agitated his wounds

What wasn't fortunate was that her chestnut locks persisted at tickling his chin in a way that was most annoying. Nose wrinkling of its own accord at the sensation, Steiner forced himself to walk faster.

"…You never knew when to yield," he chided, the words lost to her sleeping form.

* * *

For what felt like the thousandth time, Steiner clanked past Beatrix's open window, heedless of the quiet drizzle falling around him. Exactly why he insisted on patrolling the castle, rain, hail or (she suspected) meteor showers, Beatrix had given up pondering. After the first hour of his repeated renditions of _Armour Creech-ing in A Minor, _deep thoughts had been forcefully driven from Beatrix's head. She'd since reverted to counting how long it took him to complete one circuit, and that, she admitted dejectedly, was a sad pass-time indeed. The familiar environment of Alexandria Castle consoled her somewhat, and the scent of raindrops helped clear her head, leaving her with a blessed blankness she'd been unable to summon up lately.

Beatrix was pondering the ramifications of shoving Steiner's own helmet down his throat when a voice interrupted her with, "I'd ask how you're feeling, but I'm not sure I'd like the answer."

In sharp defiance of her melancholy mood, a soft smile emerged on Beatrix's face, an expression of relief at her friend's survival. After learning of the many visits the Reaper had made in the last few days, she had feared for her blonde companion. Still directing her gaze towards the open window where the rainfall was easing its way into the room, Beatrix said, "Catherine. I'm glad you're safe."

Catherine tsked at the invading water but respected Beatrix's explanation of needing fresh air. Leaving the window ajar, the sunny blonde took a seat at the foot of Beatrix's bed, delivering a faux-wince at the unexpected rigidity of the mattress. "A pleasure to see they bring out all the finer comforts for our dear hero," she muttered darkly, adjusting her position.

In response to that sarcasm, Beatrix almost winced herself, "Please. That's…"

'_That's the last thing I need.'_

"…not how a future major should behave."

A grin split Catherine's face, "So you heard."

"Of course," the brunette said. _'…and a more deserving woman they couldn't have found.'_

"Still, my meagre deeds are nothing compared to yours. Seventeen years old and general of the Alexandrian Military Force! Do you have any idea what common gossip says you did to deserve such a title? All of the gossip is good, mind, but completely untrue. If you quelled the entirety of Lindblum Castle with a flock of tamed silver dragons, I'm a Hedgehog Pie! Still, I must admit I'm saddened by the news, too. I mean, there's no room in a general's life for simple friends. Don't misunderstand my sentiments, it's just…Beatrix? Are you…?"

"I'm listening," Beatrix replied in a tone as colourless as Steiner's armour. And she was, truly; she just didn't feel compelled to interrupt her friend's lecture on the intricacies of tavern-speak. Not for the first time, Beatrix was thankful her bed's position gave her leeway to keep her eye socket out of sight. The recuperation process had given her ample free time to muse on every decision she'd ever made. Time had eventually led her to consider the happenings in Lindblum and no matter which way she looked at the scene, more and more it seemed like Kuja had been biding his time to rescue her. He'd been in league with Lindblum. That much was obvious for why else would he have had free reign of the castle, access to such intimate information as Madelene's schemes? It seemed he had little care for his alliances though, turning on Cid in favour of Alexandria.

Beatrix feared he had calculated his rescue. Likely he thought the more torture she experienced, the more grateful she'd be for his gallant intervention. She was not foolish enough to believe seeing her in pain had caused his change of heart. Kuja was not so weak to bend to an enemy's cries. Knowing he was plotting something made her uneasy. Knowing he had let them play with her, spit on her, scar her, that made her angry beyond measure. The rage and trepidation combined made her feel sick. She couldn't talk to her friends, not right now.

Catherine's frown was almost audible in the ensuing silence, disapproval jumbled together with concern radiating from the blonde. "The doctors say you're free to leave tonight, after they've monitored you for the day. What will you do once you're healed?" the level pitch of her voice -- one of patience -- was more infuriating than anything else could have been.

'_I'll never be healed,' _was Beatrix's thought, not lamenting but merely stating truths,_ 'And I won't have this impairment cost the Queen her life, nor will I accept offers of charity. Alexandria needs a strong general, not…'_

"They don't pay you to wallow in misery, Beatrix. Even if you're enjoying it," Catherine said, her gentle tone contradicting her words.

'_So I'm drowning in my despair now? …Maybe I should just go back to Treno.'_

"And it's certainly no way to honour General Madelene."

'_Ah, yes, my mentor, the soldier of fortune. Am I the only one who knows? Will she be glorified in stone, to be praised throughout eons whilst I, unable to prove her treachery, grow white with age?'_

Catherine had managed to creep forward and was now standing at the bed's side, looking down at her injured friend. The blonde's hands clenched and her feet shuffled, almost like she was restraining herself from grabbing Beatrix, shaking her from her self-constructed quagmire of dejection. Instead she told her in undertones, "Word is, Steiner's going to be made captain. And if not you, then who will properly point him back into his place whenever he strays?"

Finding some inane fascination with the wall, Beatrix finally relented with, "I'll think on it." It hurt her to give false oaths -- she had already resolved to decline once the offer was formally extended -- but at the same time she felt obligated to give her friend some hope.

"…It's stopped raining," remarked Catherine. Beatrix said nothing. Sighing a long-suffering sigh, Catherine graced her with some stilted words of farewell and left Beatrix to contemplate one-dimensional nothings.

* * *

That night, the charcoal sky was alight with funeral pyres' flames. To one who had overseen the cleansing of the dead -- the particular care taken when washing away caked grime, rubbing scented perfumes into grey skin and clothing the bodies in customary white -- it was a relief to see them fulfil their journey. Steiner had made himself pay last respects to each of them regardless of whether their faces were familiar. With some reverence, he'd placed the pair of one gil coins over Captain Klein's eyes. Then he had departed to help cut firewood.

Now, Steiner stood watching as more of his comrades were laid down to burn their way to heaven. The ruby light cast odd dark shapes against those who had came to see their family and friends for one final time. If the knight hadn't been consumed with sorrow, he may have noticed those morose shadows, unholy amongst starlight and mourning. Most certainly, Steiner would have noticed the young girl moving to join him in remembrance.

"Lieutenant Steiner?" she asked, tentative when faced with his closeness

Through the inky blackness, the knight peered at her. "Your Highness!" he exclaimed, surprise overwhelming his rational side, which was futilely telling him to lower his voice. Respectfully removing his helmet, he blurted, "It's dark out and this is no place for a princess. I shall escort you to your bedchamber immediately!"

"Mother tells me I attended Father's funeral, so this must be a suitable place for princesses," Garnet reasoned.

Steiner visibly faltered. Little Garnet had none of a seven-year-old's ignorance nor would she accept well-meant counsel if it disagreed with her. "I, ah, forgive me, Princess." Remembering himself, Steiner went to one knee. Rather than being insulted by the admonishment, Steiner was proud that his future Queen already held herself regally, commanded respect. "I only sought to spare you this grim scene," he said truthfully.

Dark hair, black as the background she stood against, moved silkily as the Princess shook her head. "That's okay," she answered, a hint of her age shining through the smokescreen royal tradition had erected around her. Her dark eyes ventured to the blazing pyres and as if hit by an ingenious thought, she saw fit to mention, "If not for you, Alexandria herself would be in flames. We are truly indebted to you, Lieutenant."

Now it was Steiner's turn to deny the compliment with a shake of his head, "Nay, it was my honour to serve my country."

Gesturing for him to stand, Garnet said, "It saddens me that many are unable to share in our victory." She looked to the pyres again, a thoughtful expression crossing her face, "I especially regret the deaths of our commanders."

Steiner considered telling her of Madelene's cowardly death, the manner in which she had 'sacrificed' herself. That woman deserved to be defamed, deserved whatever disgrace she'd brought upon herself. Selling out to the enemy was the epitome of evil as far as Steiner was concerned. After taking the higher moral road and putting aside all the personal torment the ex-General had inflicted on him over the past years, the Lieutenant still believed her treachery needed recording in the history books, to be stored in Alexandria's great libraries.

Madelene the Betrayer. He privately seared the words into her flesh.

Steiner rose to his feet. "It is a great loss," he agreed. A knight didn't invite dissent, no matter what his personal feelings.

"Sadly, the tasks they leave behind remain unfulfilled without proper replacements," Garnet's eyes sparkled with a secret knowing, the warm gleam that ladies possessed since birth.

"Indeed."

"So," and here, she clasped his hands, "your country has another request to make of you."

Blinking, Steiner looked from the Princess down to their linked hands, entwined around his helm, then back again. He may not have been the most observant when it came to human nature, and he may not have been eloquent with words, but he definitely understood what was being offered here.

"What do you ask of me?" he asked formally.

"Adelbert Steiner, do you take it upon yourself to accept the rank of Captain of the Knights of Pluto?"

For a moment, horrible self-doubt seeped into his pores, clotting his body up so that it functioned like rusty clock gears, jerky and inconsistent. Then he furrowed his brow, determination stencilling itself into his granite features as he nodded.

"If my Princess commands it, so it shall be," said he.

Releasing the knight's hands, Garnet grinned at his acquiescence. "You will be prepared for the ceremony next week?" she said.

"Of course!" Once the customary seven day mourning period had passed, the ascension rituals would be carried out for all of Alexandria to see. While Steiner wasn't particularly pleased at the notion of being made a spectacle, he convinced himself that it was just a plain celebration of his accomplishments as a warrior. Besides, he only had to stand there, drink some… whatever it was, toss some dust over himself and… well, the ceremony in itself was harmless.

"Your Highness, if you are done here…"

Steiner almost sprang ten feet into the air at the phantom voice. Then, from the darkness that had concealed her, stepped Beatrix. Illuminated by firelight and warped by shadows, her features seemed exaggerated to the point of being misshapen. A silver eyepatch had usurped her headband's usual place, wrapping around her head to hide her wound. Feeling his fists clench of their own accord, Steiner growled, "What business do _you _have here?"

Garnet beamed up at him, "General Beatrix is my guardian."

"…_General?"_

His helmet clacked to the ground.

"_**You?**__" _

Beatrix huffed, "Well, I _was _reconsidering the proposal, but…"

Steiner shook his head furiously, gesticulating wildly, "No, no, you'd make a - a _fine _general."

Beatrix glared, "Is that some pathetic attempt at reverse psychology?"

"Please, there's no need to get upset!" Garnet interjected. "Beatrix is only my _temporary _bodyguard. Naturally, that is the Captain of the Pluto Knight's duty."

"Naturally…" Steiner scoffed, knowing full well that 'Guardian of the Blood' was just a fancy title.

Beatrix's single eye flashed angrily. "Don't mock the Princess!" she screeched, sending a flock of doves scattering skyward. The funeral-goers turned as one, their own eyes shining as they observed this disruption of peace with tangible distaste. The following silence, in which Steiner's momentary idiocy became evident to him, made his face turn Ruby Dragon red. Across from him, Beatrix's stunned expression meekly dissolved into humility.

"…I-I'm sorry, Princess…" Steiner said, certain his reddened cheeks were lighting up the area so wonderfully that the sun would be put to shame.

"That's… quite alright…" Garnet replied, clearly disconcerted at the continued attention from the onlookers. "Um, maybe we should…"

As if a switch had been flicked within her, Beatrix snapped to attention. "Certainly, Your Highness. After you," she indicated the castle with a flourish of her hand. Rather warily, Garnet obliged, throwing a concerned glance over her shoulder at the two knights left behind.

The silence wasn't merely deafening now. It seemed to be all but screaming at them.

"So." Beatrix said, then seemed uncertain where to go from there. Steiner saw she only just managed to catch herself from shuffling her feet.

"So!" the big knight nodded in whole-hearted agreement. Privately, he hoped she'd leave it at that.

Beatrix visibly collected herself; to Steiner, it appeared she was readying another assault. "I want-- I wanted to--"

"No!" Steiner cut her off promptly, guessing at her intention. Hands palm up in the traditional gesture of surrender, he said sagely, "I'll not have any gestures of goodwill from you. Last time that happened, I ended up with a bedroom full of oglops."

"I... see," the brunette murmured, relief plain in her voice. Steiner wasn't exactly sure why he was sparing her the humiliation of thanking him -- it would, after all, do wonders for that inflated head of hers -- but too many things had been unseated these past days. The notion of their rivalry dying too was just unthinkable.

"I suppose with the ceremony next week neither of us wants to be made a fool of. I suppose a… a truce is in order? Just until you're general. Then you can do whatever you want, I… suppose," Steiner's voice faded away miserably at that thought, the only clear one inside his whirlwind mind.

Beatrix bowed her head in concurrence.

Steiner waved towards Princess Garnet, who was standing a respectable distance away. "You should…" he let the sentence evaporate, semi-ashamed he'd forgotten the Princess was waiting.

"Yes." Straightening, Beatrix quietly returned to her duties.

Steiner bent to retrieve his helmet, which, he realised, _was_ rather lacklustre. Resolving to polish it up, he began the long walk to his room. He had to be at his best before visiting his father.

* * *

"Report!"

The curt command elicited a salute from Steiner, who snapped to attention automatically. "Sir!" he acknowledged, daring to pause for a minute to gather his thoughts. No matter how lengthy the stroll from the castle to his old home, it had passed too quickly for him to properly weigh and order his words. Come to think of it, he doubted a millennium would be sufficient time to prepare a speech that would please the man before him.

Steely grey eyes, so much colder than Captain Klein's, fixed Steiner to the spot. Since he was a child, Steiner remembered that all-seeing gaze as fearsome, yet those eyes had also gleamed with a liveliness that was absent now. Their hardness, which had gradually accumulated over the years, seemed accentuated by the Spartan quarters the pair occupied. A woven tapestry depicting Alexander's descent into the Waterfall City was the only attempt at decoration in this room, and even the Eidolon's holy image appeared drained of light here. Steiner's own deep brown eyes shifted towards this solitary adornment in an attempt to escape the other man's accusatory stare.

"Out with it, boy," came his father's roughened voice. Steiner heard the man's enormous hand move to scratch at his unshaven chin, creating a _scritch-_ing sound that set his teeth on edge. Steiner eyebrows drew together, an unplanned gesture of irritation. The knight quickly corrected himself, fearing his actions would be misconstrued as defiant. This awkwardness was all her fault.

Wetting his lips, he began to relay events, falling gratefully into the practiced routine of reporting. "I was ordered to maintain an outpost at the river, to prevent the Lindblumese from gaining access to the city. We managed to hold them off for a time, but they were too many. Overran, I was--

_**Cold, swirling liquid, invasive, choking, ch-...**_

…_**a bright light…**_

"--pushed into the Ceebell, where I was carried far downstream.

…_**and the dark.**_

"I washed ashore somewhere near the waterfall, where I met some refugees who had fled the carnage in the city. Massing these peasants, I was able to make my way back into Alexandria and defend the castle from the onslaught. Following Cid VIII's death, we received word that a new regent had been appointed. Being a great friend of the late King Alexandros, Cid Fabool IX proposed a peace treaty at last."

By this point, Steiner couldn't keep the happiness from his voice. He would live to see the two great nations lay aside their weapons and instead extend their arms in a welcoming embrace.

Rather than rejoicing, his father simply stretched to grab a goblet and gulped down its contents greedily. The excess wine oozed down into his beard, which thirstily devoured the red rivulets. Checking himself, Steiner directed his eyes towards his father's feet, feeling like a superfluous object of little value as he stood before the older man. It was hard to refrain from shuffling awkwardly; the knight willed himself to await judgement with his composure intact. A statuesque façade was _de rigueur _here.

"Is that everything?" his father demanded after a long period of silence.

"Everything of worth," Steiner replied, accustomed to the man's brisk manner but no more pleased by it than he ever was. Truthfully, he would have preferred to have stayed at the castle, to have turned his back on his filial obligations for a moment of respite. However, some fathers -- take this one for example -- had a nasty habit of fixing an invisible chain around their sons' necks that they could tug at on any given whim.

Then again, good sons didn't complain.

"I hear you are to be made Captain of the Knights of Pluto," his father stated flatly. Steiner, who had given up on reading his father's facial expression a long time ago, was nonplussed by the apathy. He repelled the comment with, "I didn't deem it important."

"_I _will determine what is important. Not you."

Steiner's eyebrows drew together again, beads of perspiration making their presence felt. He bowed his head solemnly, "Of course. I'm sorry, sir."

"You accepted this offer?"

"Yessir."

A sigh. "Boy, I hope you understand what you're getting yourself into. I've tried to teach you right from wrong, but I can't make these decisions for you. Sometimes, being a man means stepping down and letting a more suitable person take your place. You should think on that."

Had he expected encouragement from the ex-knight, Steiner may have balked at the blunt criticism. As it was, he simply said, "I will take heed of your words."

His father sniffed once, "See that you do. Dismissed."

Steiner saluted, then stiffly turned and strode from the room. Halfway towards the door, his father called him back.

"And Steiner. That armour ought to have a polishing."

The knight couldn't control his wince. However, a sidelong glance revealed that his father wasn't even looking his way: his worn grey eyes were trained on a pitiable fleck of lint resting on the sleeve of his shirt, dusty grey against ivy green.

Steiner smiled softly at the wall, "Of course, father."

* * *

Every time she moved, her entire body emitted a song of jingles, earning her a stern stare from the white-robed priest. As if Alexandrian dress uniform wasn't ornamental enough, they'd also forced her to don the medals of past generals. Her resultant extravagant apparel made her look even more like some over-decorated cake. All she needed to complete the ridiculous picture was _Congratulations on your Promotion, Beatrix _scrawled in cursive icing across her forehead.

The priest cleared his throat loudly. Suppressing a blush, Beatrix refocused her attention on the altar that supported the trio of ceremonial artefacts. At one end was the sacred flame, which was housed by a candelabra, its three-pronged iron body worked so finely that without close inspection one may have mistaken it for true flowering vines. An urn of holy water sat at the other side, drawn from Alexandria's waterfall and later purified by the church. These two items flanked a small tree, its exquisite beauty seeming to radiate comfort. Believed to have originated from the World Tree, this Parasite Tree would supposedly grant one eternal youth.

"Hope blesses the Earth," the priest began, carefully picking a green bud from the tree, which he then offered to Beatrix. Kneeling, she planted the seed in a waiting pot at her feet.

There was a time when she might have longed for this moment but that was a child's naïve dream. Mere weeks ago, she had wanted to drop her loyalties and run, the recollection of torture still too vivid, memories of a pain she couldn't even scream through. Yet love for her mother and country bound her to the Waterfall City. Beatrix knew she could never abandon Alexandria. On some level, the brunette appreciated being recognised, but the path she had taken to acquire the mantle of Holy Knight was humbling, not something to smile or laugh about.

And then there was the endless barrage of showy rituals. The fasting hadn't been that horrible, and studying Eidolon scriptures, while boring, was bearable. But this…

At least her helmet fit properly unlike Steiner's, with a crimson crest that seemed ten-foot tall, the gaudy thing kept toppling into his face. She had felt somewhat sorry for him, even though she'd promised herself not to. On the plus side, Steiner and his overbearing disposition had forced her to put aside for the moment thoughts of the situation with her eye. She supposed that while he wasn't a great knight, he was at least a decent distraction.

"Courage sets the Fire alight," the words prompted the brunette to action. Grasping the candelabra firmly, Beatrix tilted it forward to light the tree. Its greenery burst into rose-coloured flames. Within moments, it was completely devoured, its charred skeleton all that remained.

"Kindness flows from the water." Now with the urn in hand, Beatrix watered the seed she had buried before. The reaction was instantaneous; a new tree was born. It sprouted to full size in seconds, drawing a gasp of awe from the crowd that had gathered to watch Beatrix's ascent. The rebirth was complete.

"The Wind carries the wisdom for the quest," the priest chanted the final words. The onlookers seemed to inhale a collective breath as they waited for Beatrix to take her place.

She reached for Save the Queen. Her fingers closed around the sword's ruby-encrusted hilt. Simultaneously, the crowd exploded in riotous applause, dispelling the air of solemnity that had previously stifled the room. Amongst the cheering and the yells from well-wishers, Beatrix couldn't help but break her unspoken reticence with a smile.

The deed was sealed.

* * *

**Notes on the chapter: **

- The gil on the eyes is seen as a toll to get into heaven, to pay the ferryman  
- Steiner's father… has his reasons for being harsh. All will be revealed as to why he's sourer than a lemon (but not for a long while yet…)  
- "Joybringer" - the meaning of Beatrix's name. Somewhat ironic, eh?  
- "Guardian of the Blood" - another example of me taking liberties. The Captain doesn't have any fancy titles as far as I know. I felt sorry for him, so I conjured one up.  
- The "World Tree" or Yugudoracil is taken from Norse mythology (though here I'm using it as another name for the Iifa Tree).  
- The "Parasite Tree" is from FF Tactics. It's a rare creature that feeds off the World Tree and if consumed, grants eternal life.  
- "Hope blesses the earth…" - taken from FFV.


	7. VI: Fragments of Memory

**Chapter VI**  
_**Fragments of Memory**_

_**

* * *

**_"Lord Bartholemew Portelair; Sir Edmund Rumplestein; Archduke Artemis… Flufflesworth? Beatrix, do you take me for an idiot?"

The scratching of said knight's quill ceased. Peering up at him over the two sizeable piles of paperwork between them, she said, "_General _Beatrix, if you please. And yes, I believe you're a complete dolt. Now get on with it."

"_Flufflesworth_, Beatrix. Go ahead, humour me. Tell me you wouldn't be suspicious."

Apparently the Great General had gone deaf for her only response was to duck her head back behind the stack of invitations, effectively avoiding Steiner's deathglare, and continue scribbling. Every so often, her hand made an appearance to swipe one of the paper sheafs from its lofty perch. More frequently, she grumbled about her inky fingers -- swords had always suited her more than pens -- and wiped them on a piece of cloth she'd thoughtfully provided for her own use. Under the firm belief that his own stack of paperwork, which was looking more and more like the infinite Tower of Babel with each passing moment, could tend to itself for the time being, Steiner contented himself with watching half-interestedly (or one-eighth-interestedly because she wasn't really all that exciting) as Beatrix's pile of 'to do' shrunk while her 'done to perfection' steadily grew. It wasn't right, her intruding on his free time with such a ridiculous task. She could repeat her orders as much as she fancied, but Steiner _wouldnot _accept her explanation that such an important matter could only be handled by the Princess' most trusted bodyguards.

In any case, it didn't excuse Beatrix from plonking herself and her irritating flippy hair directly opposite him. "No," he'd said, "Currently there aren't any spare seats in here. …Well, excepting the one across from me. …No, no one's sitting there. …No, I'd rather prefer you to keep it that way."

(It was at this point that, deciphering some kind of warped challenge in Steiner's words, Beatrix had assumed the role of General Nuisance and snatched the once-blissfully vacant chair.)

"Captain Steiner?"

Steiner blinked repeatedly, realising he'd been staring at her dirty digits. Obviously staring. For a _long _time. He suspected someone would begin ringing the alarm bell soon because she'd used his full title, which she could only seem to recall whenever he was in trouble.

"Unless you're blinking some coded message at me, kindly wrench your eyes away from your General and get to work."

Torn between relief at being let off so easily and embarrassment, Steiner bobbed his head to hide his burning face and picked out the first invitation his fumbling hand found. Carefully, he poured some liquid wax onto it and stamped it shut with the Winged Sword of House Alexandros. He blew on it a little for good measure then started his own pile of 'done' papers. After such a gruelling episode, Steiner permitted himself a lengthy sigh. (Beatrix bristled but said nothing.) His body was already becoming stiff after being stationary so long and, never revelling in the white collar aspects of knighthood, his mind was already beginning to wander. Feeling he'd earned some respite -- and that his face was sufficiently skin-toned -- the Captain flexed his arms, stretched his legs and tried to work the crick out of his neck.

_Creech, creech, creech…_

This time, Beatrix threw him a baleful look. Steiner paused mid-stretch and forced a smile onto his face, hoping he'd achieved the perfect mix of sincere-albeit-phoney with it. Frowning, the general re-immersed herself in paperwork. Oh well. It was her own fault for choosing to sit so close to him when she knew full well his musical choice of clothing annoyed her. When she knew _she _annoyed _him._

Looks like he'd have to make her _pay._

Grinning wickedly, Steiner gave her a sidelong glance, noting her nose was stuck in her work as always. His eyes fell on her 'to do' pile, which (he noticed with annoyance) was sizeably smaller than his and a most wonderful idea popped into his head. Silent as a cat in the night, Steiner refolded the yet-to-be-sealed scroll he held. He slowly extended his arm across the table, hoping his armour didn't betray him. With a flourish that would make one of those Tantalus actors proud, he placed it atop Beatrix's stack of unfinished work.

Steiner held in his breath. He held in his breath and his laughter.

Beatrix blindly groped for the next invitation. Grabbed it. Stamped it.

'_Success!' _he mentally cheered.

Encouraged by this, the Captain attempted another run. Daring to move a fraction faster this time, he flicked another invite onto Beatrix's stack, listening with pride as it landed so noiselessly that he wondered if, back in the day, he should have joined the stealth unit instead. When she didn't notice that either, Steiner became even more emboldened and attempted to dispose of three in one shot. On this occasion it appeared the small box labelled "pure madness" that was normally chained firmly closed in the dusty recesses of his mind had burst open -- as was prone to happen whenever Beatrix entered the scene -- and its incomprehensible contents had been loosed on his unsuspecting rationality, which was preaching disaster and childish escapades.

After five minutes of Steiner grinning like a man possessed the formidable tower had dwindled to the status of molehill. Downright cocky by now, he triumphantly grabbed the remains of his paperwork and at a recklessly fast pace reached out to dump it.

"Captain Steiner, sir!"

"_**Nyahh!" **_said Captain yelled, tossing his fistful of sheets into the air. Beatrix's quill suddenly drew a squiggle across her page before making a wild arc and joining the paper snowstorm in the air. Her flailing hand knocked over her ink well. A puddle of black engulfed half the table. _**"Steiner!" **_she barked, making it sound like an expletive.

"General, ma'am, Cap'n, ma'am, sir!" Kohel squeaked.

Trying desperately to steady himself, Steiner slowly felt his heartbeat revert to a rhythm that didn't imply a burst aorta. Across the way, Beatrix's heavy breathing subsided and her eye lost its glazed sheen, instead adopting the murky grey hue of a furious tempest as she focussed on one of the scattered invitations. "'Flufflesworth'…?" she read, deadpan.

"Um…" Steiner said, experiencing the unpleasant sensation of his much-battered heart plummeting to rest in his lower intestine. He was sure a lot of gil could be made out of this horrid situation.

"Captain Steiner, sir! Princess Garnet requires your presence in the east guest room," Kohel called, dashing out the doorway without being dismissed. Ignoring the instinct to run to Esto Gaza and hibernate for the remainder of his life, Steiner's eyes tentatively slid towards Beatrix.

An ugly black splatter covered her face, making it look as if someone had used her as a spider squasher.

Against his better judgement, Steiner stood, saying, "Really, Beatrix, you ought to be more careful. Someone may mistake you for a dolt."

_Then _he gave in to the urge and sprinted away in such an admirable manner that one would think he was gifted with auto-haste. He ran all the way to the guest room before Beatrix had him drawn and quartered.

* * *

"…loutish, exasperating, talentless…"

Only too aware of her face's ridiculous state, the Holy Knight didn't pay attentionto the numerous soldiers who shifted their feet anxiously or vacated the area entirely whenever she marched past. Steiner shouldn't glance askew at his General's orders, no matter how silly their nature. If he didn't learn how to place some measure of trust in her soon, Beatrix worried she'd lose her head (figuratively) and Steiner his (literally). So far, things were looking grim for them both. It had taken him ten years to get to the point where he only poked fun at her when he was certain she'd instigated such an attack.

Problem was, according to Steiner it was _always _her fault.

…Actually, maybe he hadn't changed at all…

If anything, she could always count on the loudmouth to pick the moment she was _completely_ distracted to play a juvenile prank on her. These past weeks, the innate kindness that epitomised Queen Brahne had drained away from her like a leaky bucket loses water. Her Majesty no longer dismissed her with, "Thank-you. You may leave now," and a gentle smile. Nowadays she spoke in abrupt tones that brooked no argument and ignored the Holy Knight entirely once she had gained whatever it was she needed from her. At first Beatrix had believed it to be the outward manifestation of grief, for the anniversary of the death of the late King Alexandros seemed to have triggered such a change. However, Queen Brahne hadn't fallen back into her usual caring manner, instead opting to devote her attention to the castle's newest arrival -- King, as her once- promised named himself now. Why he chose to dazzle the Queen with hidden roses and disappearing doves and other pretty magic tricks Beatrix hadn't the foggiest and that was perhaps the most concerning factor of all, for Beatrix was well-versed in the Ways of Kuja where rule number one was _everything has an ulterior motive._

Then there was Garnet. It wasn't right that the weeks leading up to her coming-of-age were marred by these other troubles. Lately, dark rings had been pencilled beneath her Princess' eyes, a clear answer as to why she had been performing so poorly during the white magic lessons Beatrix had just begun conducting, at the Princess' behest no less. Beatrix also had caught the girl gazing out her bedroom window, a faraway mist in her normally bright eyes. No, Her Highness shouldn't bother herself with her mother's condition. She could leave _that _duty to her General.

"…dense, ignominious, foolhardy son-of-a-gigan to--"

"I hope you're not referring to me."

Beatrix barely smothered her surprise, frayed as her wits were. Fuelled with annoyance at having been ambushed twice in one day (and on her own turf no less!) she whirled on this rude newcomer…

…and came face to face with a pair of electrifying blue eyes.

For a second, her breath caught in her throat. Playing at fixing her gloves, Beatrix allowed herself time to reload her arsenal of sharp words, sorely conscious of this wizard's proximity. She'd hated him back then, a man who believed he could own anything if he threw enough gil at it, and whatever antics he'd been up to in the dungeons of Lindblum, his actions had made her furious. She drew in a deep breath through her nose, hoping the energy it brought would ensure she wouldn't retreat. Almost immediately following this, Kuja retreated a pace, twirling his lengthy sleeves through a series of mesmerizing patterns as he performed a bow. He may have been enchanting had his gaze remained downcast as befitted such a pose. Instead his eyes brazenly met hers, a hint of a smirk in their swirling depths. "Lady Beatrix," he acknowledged, his voice rippling with amusement.

"What are you doing wandering the grounds?" The accusation tumbled from her mouth before she could stopper it. Knowing Kuja, he would take pride in knowing he had raised Beatrix's hackles. Immediately, she regretted voicing her distaste.

"Then I should have… an escort?" he crooned, drawing out his words in a tone that put her in mind of sour milk.

'_To the dungeons,' _she thought acidly.

Recovering her composure was difficult, especially considering his intoxicating fragrance was permeating the air. Mentally soothing her tensed muscles, the General flicked hair from her face. She'd started along the suspicious vein and supposed she had to continue it now. "That depends on whether you're causing trouble enough to warrant one," she replied, allowing an icy edge to creep into her voice. Never mind whatever favours he'd done Alexandria in the past. Never mind the supposed redemption he brought on himself by rescuing her from Lindblum all those years past. Being in cahoots with Cid VIII had nullified that.

Kuja laughed. "And to think I was to take you as my wife! Ah, but I've always been fond of such passion as you now reveal. Stirred like this, you are more like the girl skipping with street urchins, careless of ruining the new dress her father made her wear and less like the cold-hearted general."

"The general is more suited to dealing with your type, King," she said, hoping to distance him by reverting to his other title.

"But you'd prefer to be the girl, right?"

His perceptiveness frightening, she clamped her teeth firmly together, swallowing a gasp in the process. Her body cried out for oxygen, yet to draw air through her mouth would be to recognise her rising panic. Consequently, the insidious tendrils of his foul perfume infiltrated her body, increasing her feeling of entrapment. She found herself snarling, "My desires are none of your concern!"

"My dear Beatrix, whatever sins have I committed to deserve such hostility? Surely refusing you your title, which I only do as a measure of endearment, isn't enough."

Well, that was a small part of it. Unlike Steiner, who enjoyed teasing her every now and then, Kuja sucked some malicious pleasure from addressing her so disrespectfully. His persistent nicknames had irked her from the moment her father had introduced them in the pragmatic hope that marriage would expand his wealth. Beatrix's aspirations of becoming a knight, of escaping the Treno noble whose cold eyes belied his charming demeanour, had mattered little to either of the men back then.

Then King had suddenly stepped back into her world, calling himself Kuja, toying with her in Lindblum as if her life were a casual thing he could discard whenever he chose, like you would the peel of an orange. Not to mention… the dungeons.

'_**Know pain, bitch!'**_

She shut her eye against the memory.

"Lindblumese are not trained in magic," she said, opening her eye to glare hatred at him, hoping the murderous glint was enough to send him scurrying from the continent. For an instant he was disarmed, a childlike helplessness flickering within those blue orbs. Her deduction had clearly not been in whatever schemes he was hatching. Disconcertion momentarily flashed on his face at the prospect of having his foul secret illuminated. "You would have talked. Anyone would have talked."

"Not the Silence spell," she said. It sounded like a wolf's growl. "You waited. You were there and you waited, and then..." Her own anger choking her off, she gestured furiously at her face.

"They would have noticed had I acted sooner," he tried, the words seeping into her like poison. Beatrix snarled wordlessly. Kuja shrugged, regaining his former aura of self-assuredness, placing a hand theatrically to his forehead as he simpered, "I never thought appearances meant so much to you."

"Leave," she grated, hand itching for Save the Queen. Confronting him had been a mistake. The memory of his cruelty hadn't faded over the years. It had smouldered quietly, awaiting a chance to ignite anew, refusing to die out in the wake of the apathetic demeanour she'd withdrawn into.

Kuja eyed her. All trace of flippancy vanished from his features to be replaced by an anger as cold as hers was hot. "You would do well to tend to your own business, _General,_" he hissed, making Beatrix recoil from his sudden animosity. Just as quickly as it had arisen the fire was tamed to its usual small spark, relegated to the bottom of his eyes. Kuja seemed to consider the ink smudge across her face -- Beatrix refused to let his scrutiny shame her -- then graced her with another bow before leaving.

Kuja out of sight, Beatrix sighed appreciatively. She ran a hand over her face, realised she was trembling slightly and then moved to clasp her sword hilt to calm down, enraged anew by her weakness. How foolish, illuminating the depths of the ill will she harboured for him, giving him reason to keep one eye trained her way. Now how was she going to ferret out his deceit. Worse, she had ordered him out of turn, not a day after Her Majesty had specifically given him free reign of the castle. If he took this news of insubordination to the Queen, Beatrix could very well find herself in the dungeons once again -- the Queen was behaving too erratically to merely give Beatrix a warning. The thought sent a wave of nausea through her shaky body. Once shackled, Kuja could do anything to her. She doubted the Queen, in her current state, would halt him.

Whatever it was Kuja was after, he'd be free to take it then.

"Beatrix?" the voice, unfamiliarly soft, salvaged her from black thoughts. She lifted her head to acknowledge Steiner, beyond caring whether he'd witnessed the unpleasant incident. "What is that strange man doing here again?" he asked.

"You didn't know? Her Majesty was so impressed by his trickery she allowed him passage through the castle whenever he so wishes." She shook her head, shrugging hopelessly in an attempt at conveying what words could not.

"You don't sound overly happy about that," he noted, a tinge of disapproval in the statement, but he cast his gaze around as if scanning for the villainous Kuja nonetheless. It cheered her a little, knowing that while straight-laced Steiner may not have trusted her, he still respected her judgement.

"I know it's wrong to doubt Her Majesty's competence, but surely her odd behaviour has unsettled even you." Beatrix almost winced to hear the pleading undertones in her voice, but her uncertain heart needed some form of consolation.

Steiner shook his head in a furious 'no'. "My thought and my will are meaningless. How can a knight, pledged to servitude, possibly hope to understand the workings of his liege's mind?"

Beatrix hid a smile. His blind loyalty was admirable, if asinine. "You're sure."

Mistaking the statement as a question, Steiner began scratching his chin in thought. Slowly, he said, "A tailor sews. A thief steals. A knight defends. How else to explain it, I know not."

Between alternately avoiding potentially humiliating situations for herself and planning them for Steiner, Beatrix had never given much thought to the man's positive attributes. In fact, she'd been quite convinced they were non-existent. After becoming head of the Alexandrian military force their private war had subsided to the point where they'd contented themselves with verbal duelling -- time was a quickly-consumed commodity when you were practically top of the chain of command -- and perhaps the occasional underhanded trick like the one he'd pulled on her before. However, with those three short statements the normally blundering man of little brainpower became a soldier who would give more blood than he had in him if it meant keeping his country from harm. "You _are _sure…" she marvelled.

It was very likely shock at her sincere tone that caused him to reply by means of a salute.

"So why did you venture out here anyway?" she continued, pleased that he was finally deferring to her.

"Oh!" Steiner exclaimed, practically leaping into the air at his remembered errand, "Princess Garnet requires your assistance in the east guest room."

"Me?"

"She… As soon as I arrived, that was the order she gave. Apparently, Kohel misunderstood her use of the word, 'Commander'."

Beatrix tried not to see the wounded look in his eyes. Roles resumed. "Very well then. Good day, Captain."

"But you've still…" he muttered, rubbing a finger over his nose.

Pausing, she raised a hand to scrub the black mark from her visage.

Thank Alexander for Steiner!

* * *

'_How odd. Beatrix is normally so in control -- so much so that I expect if Hades himself dropped out of the sky she'd just politely tell him to leave! -- yet with that man…'_

Steiner watched her retreating image, her lengthy white coat twisting in the breeze. Only now did she relinquish her grip on Save the Queen and reluctantly at that. The Captain grimaced, disappointed his pep-talk hadn't worked. It was different matter, Beatrix being upset when _he _wasn't the source of her ire. A different matter altogether. In fact, he couldn't shake the feeling that this King character was treading boldly into territory that had undisputedly belonged to Steiner for the past ten years.

'_All I succeeded in was eliciting some half-hearted abbreviation of a smile. Although now that I think on it, at least she looked at me.'_

Even such a tiny gesture was rare. Having the best swordsmanship in the land tended to put an arrogant spin on every brief sentence Beatrix uttered barring when she conversed with her superiors. Of which there were far too few, in his opinion.

Steiner shook his head, smiling to himself.

"You've gotta move together!"

"Not _that _way!"

"Look out!"

_Splash!_

Knowing only a certain cluster of Alexandria Castle's residents sounded _that_ completely lost, Steiner dashed along the red carpet of the entrance hall towards the courtyard, dread nestling in the pit of his stomach. Already in a fit of rage, he burst outside only to be confronted by blonde woman headed straight his way. They collided with a comical clang, creating fresh dints in both their suits of armour. The woman was repelled by Steiner's bulk to land heavily on the ground with an, "Oof!"

"My word! Are you okay?" Steiner asked, eyes darting between the injured soldier and the ensuing calamity ahead.

"Uhnn…" She rubbed her head dazedly, then changed her actions into a wonky salute. "I was just looking for you, sir."

"What's going on!"

"The Pluto Knights nearly capsized…" she trailed off and just pointed in the direction of the moat.

"_What!" _Steiner bellowed, following both her finger and his ears rather than waiting for an explanation. In his experience, it was easier to see the unbelievable situations his men ensnared themselves in rather than trying to get someone to vocalise the impossible. What he discovered wasn't the craziest scene he'd chanced upon, but it was a typical case of a simplistic mission fallen to pieces, an unsolvable jigsaw puzzle without their Captain's guidance.

"Swim harder!" a thoroughly distressed Kohel was calling from the bank. Floundering a few meters from shore, Weimar choked out a garbled rush of words that may have translated as something along the lines of, "Help!"

"He's drowning!" Mullenkedheim said, leaning over the boat's edge to try to rescue his companion. The vessel tipped, making its large-of-girth occupant spring back with a yelp, while its cargo -- a wine keg labelled with a yellow star on a green field,easily as tall as Steiner -- tilted perilously close to the point of no return.

"Can't you idiots do_ anything!_" the Captain yelled, running frantically up and down the shoreline. _"Get his armour off!"_

"Yessir!" Kohel declared, then, "Arrgghhh!" he screamed, diving headfirst into the water. His voice, half-muffled, turned incoherent, his head periodically disappearing beneath self-created waves. Steiner clapped a hand over his eyes, unwilling to see the woeful manner in which his order had been interpreted. He heard a third splash, feeling his heart sink along with his men.

"By the Sword!" came Mullenkedheim's happy voice. Unable to think for the life of him why the man was rejoicing, Steiner hazarded a glance.

The knight who had spoken was still seated in the boat, a grin plain on his face. The woman who had crashed into Steiner moments ago had plunged herself into the moat and was dragging the drowning Kohel and Weimar landward. "Yes! That's it!" Mullenkedheim began egging her on. Steiner soon lent his own voice to the ruckus with, "Keep going! You can do it!"

Once the trio of sodden Alexandrians were safely on_ terra firma_ and Steiner had given his troops a good reprimanding, he fixed his attention on the blonde. Though grateful for her efforts, he was dismayed to find the rose insignia of Squad Beatrix on her uniform. "I am indebted to you… ah…" he halted at her name.

"Major Catherine, sir," she supplied.

"Ca…" he frowned in consternation, recognising her as one of Beatrix's favourites. "Well, thank-you anyway." He turned to watch as Mullenkedheim valiantly commandeered the boat landwards. It bumped into the docks with a sullen thump, both cargo and captain in mint condition.

"Catherine…" Weimar blubbered, mouth opening and closing as he continued emptying his lungs of water, "Such a beaut--" and the rest was lost in a fit of coughing. Steiner glared at the womanising knight. "Stealing a boat… to transport liquor… and you can't even _row_." Whatever effect he'd counted on his words having, it was lost. Weimar was too preoccupied trying to breathe.

"Actually sir," Catherine said, her tone wandering between submissive and superior, "They acted on Lord King's behalf. He needed this barrel brought to the castle for Her Majesty. The Pluto Knights just happened to be standing around at the time."

As if dealt an electric shock, Kohel flew up violently. "We were _patrolling,_" he frowned over at Catherine, "when Lord King interrupted to ask us to do him a small favour. How could we refuse someone so loved by the Queen? We never expected it would be so hard." He directed a look, somewhere between cautious and vindictive, at the barrel. Steiner couldn't believe he was trying to shirk responsibility onto an inanimate object. "And it's _not_ alcohol, Captain," he emphasised.

"Hmm?"

"That's right. It's magic!"

Steiner blinked, wondering if his men hadn't ingested too much lake water.

"Can't be," Mullenkedheim joined, giving the barrel a guarded stare. "You can't just stuff a fire spell into a barrel. You make it and it happens and then it's gone."

"Well, I mean, it's something magical."

"Like I-pull-rabbits-out-of-my-hat magical or scary, I-can-call-meteors-from-the-sky magical?"

"Dunno. It's just magical."

"I like magical."

"Mmm, magical's magical."

"_Stop saying magical!" _Steiner roared.

"Perfect timing! I couldn't have asked for more laudable knights," a voice behind Steiner announced. He grimaced, attributing the distinctive musical quality to Kuja. Caught between Kuja's appearance and their superior's glower which spoke of ramming swords down their throats, the Pluto Knights jumped to attention. "Sir!" they chorused, each snapping a salute with varying degrees of sloppiness.

"You! What is the meaning of this?" Steiner demanded.

Kuja sketched a bow. "Sorry for acting without consulting you first, Captain, but I didn't want to distract you from the vital duties you attend. Besides, after being instructed personally by you I was certain these men would have no troubles with the menial task I requested they perform."

"Oh. In that case…" Suddenly realising he'd been looming over the smaller man, Steiner carefully extracted himself from Kuja's personal space and crossed his arms over his chest. While throwing a temper tantrum -- or a variety of pointy objects in Kuja's direction -- was definitely not the proper way to act, neither was letting him nose around with the belief he could best certain Captains simply by flattering them. With a disparaging grimace on his face, Steiner let the platinum-haired mage know he hadn't fooled him.

Kuja smiled.

"Uh, should we get back to patrolling, sir?"

"Of course," Steiner said, waving away whichever of his idiot knights had spoken while maintaining his vigil. By means of response his prey suddenly came to life, blinking wide blue eyes, the shaking of his head making his hair swish in a cascade of molten silver. "But you can't leave yet. I need this taken to your Queen." Lazily, he indicated the keg, which was dripping after its treatment at the hands of lapping waves and wet soldiers.

Put off by something in the Kuja's tone, Steiner feigned a resigned sigh and moved to the barrel himself. "You," he pointed at Kohel, "Give me a hand with this."

Kuja's smile became mechanical. Eyes glittering, a cruel edge now visible in them, he watched (allowed?) Steiner to heft the keg. "Lead the way," he sang, regarding the Captain with veiled malice. Had Steiner not spent half his life keeping people from killing him, he doubted he would have noticed the threat.

'_Beatrix is right: this man reeks of bad intentions. Perhaps some careful questioning is in order…'_

"I hear you're a particularly gifted magician," Steiner ventured as they trooped through the entrance hallway. Behind him, Kuja chuckled -- _'What kind of man laughs like tinkling bells?' _-- and picked up his pace, walking beside Kohel who was labouring beneath the burden. "I'm no magician," he said in an amused tone.

"Forgive my ignorance. I'm unfamiliar with your trade." He didn't like the way Kuja sifted through his words, picking apart each syllable as he scavenged for an opportunity to berate him. Ordinarily, Steiner would've simply tossed the offender out of the castle; at the very least he would've put him in his place with some hard words. However, having already seen the General unsuccessfully clash horns with this man and knowing he was the Queen's flavour of the month, Steiner reined in his temper and settled for civility.

"Weavers of illusions. The magicians you speak of are nothing more. But I, I am a conjurer of true wonders. I can raise an ocean with my fingertips, command the moon to eclipse the sun, draw hell's fire into the palm of my hand without being singed. I even have the potential to summon great beasts of yore into this realm. What you call 'magic' is far from the fairytale smoke-puffs an eon of misuse causes the name to imply. No, the reality is far more frightening."

His voice, which had begun softly, had risen to a level where its musical quality had taken over completely and was now trying to suffuse Steiner's notion of magic with a rhythmic pulse, vitality. During his speech he had also strayed in front of the knights, choosing to speak the words to the entirety of the castle rather than simply his audience of two. Now he turned around to regard Steiner with cool eyes. "Do you understand?" he asked softly.

Kohel swallowed audibly. "Frightening?"

That same knowing smirk tugged on Kuja's lips. "Would you like to see?" he said. His eyes were asking Steiner.

"I am not blind," he countered.

"Then what have you to fear?"

Steiner restrained his apprehension. He locked eyes with the mage. He nodded.

Flash of light, darkness devouring -- leg, leg, torso, arm, arm, neck, head -- and night.

* * *

"Help! Someone, please! Help!"

'_Ugh… Where amI…?'_

With a groan, he cracked open his eyes. His head was pounding, the thundering reaching a crescendo as he hauled himself to his feet, blinking rapidly against the pain. Flickering flames were eating their way through the crumbled remains of the building where he was standing. For a moment, Steiner observed the fiery tendrils chew their way through ruined furniture and the portrait of a noblewoman whose long blonde hair, then delicate chin, then blue eyes were consumed by the blaze.

"_Help!" _someone -- a boy -- shouted. Abruptly his cries were cut short as he was overcome by wheezing coughs. As if the sound triggered some internal mechanism Steiner clapped his hand over his mouth, praying sickly smoke wouldn't infiltrate his lungs. He had to find the child; he knew this with utter certainty. He took a wary breath and was surprised when the air felt clear. A deeper breath yielded no side-effects. Satisfied, the knight began picking his way across the debris-strewn floor, weaving past fallen beams, tip-toeing between broken roof tiles and chunks of wood. The pull, which had been faint in the beginning, seemed to swell with each step he took until it grew so powerful that he no longer had to pause to listen for the boy's cries, pleading alternatively to Alexander and Mother, his desperate assurances that Father would be there soon. Steiner had to sidle out of the room he'd awoken in -- the door had semi-collapsed under its own weight -- and tread extra cautiously down the hallway he emerged in. Peppered with holes, gaping monster-mouths spewing rolling thick clouds of smoke, the hallway looked as if it would give way any second. Unable to help himself, Steiner looked into the first such hole he came to. A chandelier was dangling crookedly in his vision. Further down, two lancers sporting Lindblumese livery emerged from a fiery corridor, their booted feet tapping on the polished wooden floor. One of them was limping badly, the other clutching his side.

"Think she's dead?" said the soldier favouring his right leg. His voice echoed throughout the ballroom.

"Who knows. In any case, the fire'll get her if we didn't," the other replied between breaths, not deigning to look at the man he addressed.

"What about the other ones?"

"The girl's as good as gone. So's the woman that went in after her. And the boy…" Here, he stopped, turning to look back across the expanse of the room. It was disheartening to think such a place had once housed hundreds of women in billowing skirts, hair twisted elaborately about their heads as they spun a field of wildflowers across the dance floor whilst men in smart black suits with shining shoes vied for their attention.

"Hey, I didn't say _stop_," the first complained, smacking his comrade on the arm. "Am I your commander or am I your commander?"

"Yes sir, Major Biggs, but if General Madelene finds out…"

Intrigued beyond caring whether this delay would cause his death, Steiner flattened himself to the ground and wormed his way to the edge of the hole he'd been looking through. On the lower floor, the taller of the pair was staring resolutely at the fiery passage they'd came from, seemingly weighing the pros and cons of dashing back in there. Whatever errand he contemplated, it must have been important -- it didn't look like that hall was going to remain intact for long.

"He"s a kid, Wedge. Even if he survives he won't remember a darn thing."

Wedge snorted. "You sayin' you wouldn't remember who offed ya mama?"

"What I'm sayin' is, if I were knee-high to a grasshopper and some big bad men --"

"And a woman."

"And a woman," Biggs conceded, "with spears came into my home and messed me up --"

"And a sword."

"What?"

"'Big bad men and a woman with spears and a sword,'" Wedge recited helpfully.

Steiner recognised the vexed expression contorting Biggs' face as one he himself often wore. For a moment his heart went out to the man. "Yeah, yeah, a sword and the rest," Biggs snapped, his eyebrows bent downward at such an angle that they appeared to be trying to slide off the officer's face and desert the army for good. Wedge gazed at his superior expectantly. Slowly, Biggs' face relaxed. And relaxed. Until eventually, he was forced to say, "…Um… What was my point again?"

"You wouldn't remember who'd done ya mama in, being so utterly terrified an' all."

"Precisely," Biggs nodded vigorously, folding his arms over his chest contentedly. Sighing to himself, Steiner wondered if his own men made him look like a moron this effortlessly. Again, the Major gave a firm yank on his man's arm as he turned to leave. It was sufficient to get Wedge moving, though he did toss some forlorn looks over his shoulder on his way. Steiner pushed himself to a stand and hurried along until he came to a flight of broken stairs leading down to what he guessed to be the entrance hall. A second was all he needed -- it was as if he was on a set path. He had no real decisions to make now. Lengthening his stride, he half-hopped, half-ran down them. By the time he reached the ballroom, heart leaping in his chest, blood thundering along his veins, he was sprinting for his life. "I must be mad," Steiner muttered as, running full-tilt, he entered the flaming corridor the Lindblumese had fled from, metal drawn to magnet.

The boy was down here. He knew it.

As if to confirm his thoughts, a frantic voice echoed down the corridor. And then, the sound of a crying child suddenly filled his ears, high-pitched keening that seemed to press heavily against his chest. Steiner gasped, tried to increase his pace. Suddenly his foot caught on something and the air froze around him, stopping him in time and then he was all movement and head-over-heels and floor and where the _hell _had that come from? Fallen at the end of the passage, strangely unhurt from the impact, the Captain lifted his head. The simple act seemed to take years.

He looked up at the woman's corpse.

* * *

"Captain?"

Someone poked him firmly in the ribs. Steiner opened his eyes to find himself staring into Kohel's concerned face. "I'm fine," he said as he inspected his surroundings. He was at the top of the stairs, propped against the barrel he'd been lugging around, Kohel crouched in front of him. A grin split the younger knight's face and he straightened, saying over his shoulder, "You see, Lord King? I told you he'd be fine!"

'_King!'_

Springing to his feet (as his bones creaked like they'd been gathering dust for the past decade or two he immediately wished he'd done otherwise) Steiner pushed past Kohel to confront the sneaky magus. Kuja took a step forward to meet him. "You're unharmed?" he asked quickly.

"No thanks to you!" Steiner thundered, "What was it you did to me?"

Kuja's eyes flickered to Steiner's sword. They gained a measuring look. "Interesting…" he murmured.

"Tell me!"

Kuja's lips moved as he seemed to converse with himself, the words indistinguishable. He trailed off abruptly as he realised Steiner was listening to every word. The Captain gave him a look that could have sheared the meat from his bones. With a long-suffering sigh, Kuja succumbed to the tirade. "What I mean to say is, funny that one untrained in magic would have such a powerful reaction to my spell. The memories I conjured, they belonged to you?"

The rage that usually came so effortlessly seeped away, leaving behind a very drained Steiner who wanted little more than to go to sleep where he stood. Those words... How _did_ someone know for certain which memories belonged to them? Significant moments often corroded at the persistent caressing of time's tides, vivid snapshots that paled to whitewashed vagueness. For all he knew, those events could have occurred millennia ago. After all, throughout Alexandria's bloody history, more than one General Madelene had held Save the Queen. That was assuming he'd even _been _in Alexandria…

Sighing, a tiny act that did nothing to assuage the maelstrom of thoughts in his head, Steiner about-faced and made for his quarters, one foot before the other.

* * *

"It's a shame Uncle Cid's duties detain him in Lindblum," Garnet said again. Beatrix looked over at her and was surprised to find that despite her conversational tone, the Princess was regarding her intently.

"That is the message he sent," she replied, resuming her assessment of the royal box and its surroundings. Would the Pluto Knights be enough to control the crowd if it turned unruly? No, but that mattered little. Nobles would not chance impropriety in such a public domain. Riots wouldn't be a problem today -- hadn't since Queen Brahne's rule -- though caution, no matter how prude it may seem, was never amiss. More pressing were the commoners packed shoulder-to-shoulder, lining the rooftops for a rare glance at foreign gentry or the funny man in the rusty suit of armour or the cyclops general, the one who slew a hundred knights unassisted ten years past. Maybe if they were lucky Queen Brahne herself would acknowledge them with a wave. Princess Garnet, if they were luckier.

Alexander knew what pickpockets and women of ill repute could hide in that carousing, jostling, milling mass! An assassin would find hiding in _that_ throng a treat. They were prepared for any eventuality though. Archers on the battlements, pikemen down at the waterfront, triple guard in the main entrance hall… Cannons had undergone final inspections the other day. The amount of time spent mentally scrolling through her checklist, ascertaining each point was covered, was likely longer than the time spent actually seeing to everything! And everything _was_ settled. Her obligations were fulfilled. All that remained was to stand at attention. Beatrix was used to that.

She suppressed a yawn. Sometimes she thought she was just ornamental.

"I wish he were here." Garnet's voice was small. She seemed to be missing the regent a great deal of late. With her mother paying increasing amounts of attention to Kuja, Beatrix supposed Cid was Garnet's last connection to her father. It was unfair, a girl being so alone on her birthday. As the theatre troupe's leader ambled out on stage clad in the bejewelled cloak of King Leo and began booming introductions, Beatrix angled her head to surreptitiously consider her Princess. Dainty hands gripped her dress, twisting in the fabric; her gaze pierced through both actor and curtain as if they were sculpted of glass. Frowning, Beatrix privately cursed Cid for refusing to attend tonight's festivities.

Far to her right, standing stiffly at the ready on the other end of the royal dais, Steiner's eyes flickered toward the Princess every few moments. He wore a grimace to match Beatrix's own -- in fact, he'd been the first to don it. Even his introduction to Lord Flufflesworth (who turned out to be a well-muscled man who favoured pink shirts) hadn't altered his worried expression. That, Beatrix understood. What she didn't understand was the look that overtook his face, one of crinkled eyebrows and pursed lips, whenever his eyes fell on _her_, as if he found her as interesting as the rooftop viewers did. As if he'd never even seen her before, let alone sprinkled itch-weed in her wardrobe or substituted her dessert for a flan. The violent kind.

Briefly, she wondered if she'd spilled ink on her face or something.

Intermission arrived suddenly and Garnet pleaded a need to refresh herself. Steiner barely offered a protest when Beatrix nodded deferentially at their Princess, who, after a word from her mother, left her place briskly. In full mother chocobo mode, Steiner's eyes intently followed Garnet's steps. He went so far as to raise a hand in a gesture of appeal, barely managing to restrain himself from following her. Beatrix believed he'd narrowly avoided begging the girl for a smile.

Minutes ticked by. Intermission ended and the curtains opened to reveal a banquet hall, banners draping the polished wood-panelled walls while mouth-watering food steamed on the long table. Descending from the central staircase, Prince Schneider's appearance was hailed by blaring trumpets and a rainbow of confetti. On his third step down his foot caught on the edge of the carpet. Arms windmilled wildly, one finding the banister to save him from complete embarrassment while he steadied himself. Both Prince Schneider's on-stage audience and the true audience chuckled appreciatively, the low humming of bumblebees. The depths of Schneider's foolishness only became more apparent as the scene progressed. He produced gifts for the King, a pair of albino chicobos that went on a berserk rampage, tangled themselves in the hanging banners and fled the castle, servants clearly being out-run in their pursuit. Following this, he set fire to Cornelia's napkin, talked himself into a duel with the renowned General Gilgamesh and eventually ate part of the centrepiece by mistake, at which point he was stretcher-ed off for life-saving surgery. The humour failed to penetrate Beatrix's black mood. Thumb circling the pommel of Save the Queen, she wondered what was holding Garnet's attention.

"Let us in!"

Steiner marched towards the source of the interruption, fists forming at his sides as he began trumpeting some nonsense about manners and timing. Briefly, she looked over her shoulder, decided he could chase off whoever elected to petition Her Majesty on the perils of employing moogles and turned her attention back to the stage. Princess Cornelia was just declaring her undying love for Mar--

"Let us in!"

Oh, the romance was even worse than the humour. Beatrix fixed a steely expression on her face. It came easily. "Is it an emergency?"

"An emergency it is!"

"A veritable emergency of terrible urgency!"

The General faltered, her expression slipping into one of vexation. With their sing-song manner of speaking, Zorn and Thorn were merely tolerable at the best of times. Deciding concealing her irritation would serve no purpose tonight -- and that she deserved some small outlet -- she ignored whatever it was Steiner was grumbling about and asked the twins to come out with it.

"Her Royal Highness…" began one.

"Princess Garnet…" the other continued.

They both gulped nervously before spluttering out the rest of the sentence, "…is missing!"

The rapidity at which the colour drained from Steiner's face would have been comical at any other time, but Beatrix was occupied suppressing a tide of fury at the news. Of course it had to have been more than Cid's absence, more than coming-of-age jitters or trepidation about meeting future suitors. More than a teenager's mood swings. Even more than the episodes of melancholy that occasionally took the girl over when she thought on her father. How could she have dismissed Garnet's odd behaviour so simply? Hadn't she learnt that the most dangerous enemies were the ones you didn't know you had?

Generals were most certainly _not _supposed to be this incredibly _stupid_.

Beatrix swallowed her rage. There would be time for self-deprecating thoughts later. Attempting to channel inner calm, she delivered the news to Queen Brahne in machine gun fire spurts, and moments later she was running a perimeter search, methodically narrowing down the places Garnet may have fled to.

That was working on the assumption that she hadn't left the castle grounds.

Alexandria's Holy Knight groaned, frustrated at the current state of affairs and the fact that moments ago she'd been praying for something -- anything! -- less bland than guard duty. _Everyone _knew the old saying: _be careful what you wish for. _Evidently,just because one's wishes had remained unfulfilled for half their lifetime didn't mean this particular cosmic law was untrue. The universe was selective about enforcing such laws, apparently.

Maybe it was high time to break those rules. Generals were renowned for such feats.


	8. VII: Dirty Rain

**Chapter VII****  
**_**Dirty Rain**_

* * *

Hands tightened against the hilt. Boot pressed firmly into the creature's chest. A quick jerk, a pained gasp. Beatrix ignored the fading glow in the Burmecian's eyes, shifted her grasp on blood-slick Save the Queen. Carelessly, she shoved him over the edge of the stony archway. He hit the ground, joining the rest of his slain kin. The cavern was a ravenous beast's mouth, the stink of dying men's last breaths turning the air rancid, the walls its bumpy flesh mottled with wavering shadows.

"General!"

A low slice met with a Burmecian's calves, tore through sinew and bone. Red rain decorated the grotto's floor, trickling to pool in cold stone crevices. The soldier crumpled like a marionette with severed strings, moaning helplessly. Beatrix ran a hand over her face to dispel sweat that was sliding into her good eye before plunging her weapon into the wounded dragoon's back with two-handed finality. His voice rose in a sharp cry, arms bending backwards at an impossible angle, roving digits searching to pull sharp steel from his back. After a time, exhausted, he lay there shuddering. Letting go her sword, Beatrix waited for him to die.

Another yell directed her way. The knight turned to meet a grimy Major Wilkes, blonde hair falling just above her sagging shoulders. Looking Beatrix up and down, eyebrows drawn together above tired eyes, Catherine assessed the damage her general had subjected herself to. "I'm fine," she bit, weariness making the words shorter than she'd intended. Beatrix tried to soften her face. It was like kneading rock.

One hand stretched out to offer her a water-skin. A little annoyed that Catherine had presumed to inspect her first, Beatrix took the item with murmured gratitude nonetheless. Liquid slipped down her throat raw from screaming commands and war-cries. Lukewarm yet satisfying.

"Lord King bids us withdraw," the blonde started, "He'll have his Black Mages raze this place to cinders while we go lick our wounds."

Beatrix suppressed an involuntary shudder. Fire made her… uneasy. Taking a last gulp, feeling the refreshing drink placate her aching muscles' pangs, she turned the flattened object over in her hands and murmured, "Like whipped dogs," with subdued anger. Then, remembering she spoke to her subordinate, not friend, a knot suddenly ravelled in her stomach. The brunette's head flicked up to gauge Catherine's reaction, knowing that disparaging Queen Brahne's favourite, however obliquely, was enough to constitute causing dissension.

The blonde reached over and re-claimed the skin, face a blank sheet, impossible to discern. When she resumed speaking it was as if Beatrix hadn't said anything unacceptable. "The Black Waltzes have made contact with their target." Quickly, she scanned the area. No one stood within hearing distance -- no one who would live through the night anyway -- but still she lowered her voice a notch. "They failed to retrieve her, General. They were unsuccessful in dispatching the defective prototype. In fact, all three of them are unaccounted for, most likely destroyed. Furthermore," and here she gave Beatrix a level look, one so direct it treaded the border of appropriateness, "they failed to dispose of a single one of the target's companions."

The proper response was to scowl, so scowl she did. Silently she cheered Kuja's failure, hope that Her Majesty would see the folly in trusting to these Black Mages kindled. Sacrificial lambs were what Kuja had perceived when he'd sent her soldiers into the narrow quarters of Gizamaluke's Grotto first, a vanguard that would be lucky to leave with minimum casualties. But Kuja had been mistaken. He hadn't counted on a general who fought where the blades were keenest. The selfish act to prevent his precious golems from being decimated had backfired, proving Squad Beatrix's worth rather than demonstrating his mages' promised might.

And Steiner…

Catherine's mouth quirked as if guessing her thoughts. Beatrix fixed her a steady look, asking, "And you came upon this information how?"

The remark was enough; Catherine had the grace to look chastised. Turnabout was fair play, after all. Now it was the blonde's turn to study the empty skin as she uttered, "Head of communications, ma'am. It was necessary to inform Her Majesty once our troops gained the upper hand. If the jesters have no concept of discretion, if I overheard the tail end of a conversation, well, it can't have been private." The last was said vehemently, daring Beatrix to challenge the verity of her words.

'_You've been spying for me,' _Beatrix thought, flattered and appalled alike.

"But that is unimportant," Catherine hurriedly continued, preventing the brunette from having to punish her. "What I meant to tell you is the Queen is most insistent we press across Daines-horse Basin and into the city itself. Tonight, if such a plan proves viable. She wants the King's head on a pike where the crows might pick out his eyes so he'll not ever lay his greedy gaze on Alexandrian soil again."

"Lord King's words, I take it?"

The Major blushed. This time Beatrix's scowl was real.

At her feet, the Burmecian gave a feeble gasp and stopped, the blood puddle surrounding him already congealing. A heartbeat was wasted as Beatrix regarded his still form. Disgusted, she wrapped her fingers round Save the Queen and roughly yanked it free. "…Send in the medics. Tell them to be sparing with their supplies. Our White Mages I want reserved for later." Few were born with magical capabilities; even less enlisted in the military. Beatrix herself, though sharing some talent for producing lesser status-altering effects, could only cast specific magicks by channelling energy through Save the Queen. Refined spells were beyond her skill entirely. The small number of spell casters was strained in maintaining an entire army. Paired with the fact that their supply of ethers, expensive to manufacture as they were, was pitiful, the last thing they needed was stray Curas flying around.

"If you find anyone on the edge of death, only then do I want to see healing," she stressed, pausing to wipe her dirtied blade along the bottom of her coat. "Make sure our dead are properly tended to. I want a battle damage assessment within the hour. Have Squad C clear monsters within a mile radius of the Grotto's exit. After that," she conceded, "have everyone move into the Basin."

"I'll not delay in seeing your orders carried out," Catherine supplied, saluting before striding away.

'_**My **__orders? You know as well as I that I've no authority, not where it counts. Since when did you become so adept at hedging important issues? …Since I became your commander, I suppose.'_

The brunette returned her weapon to its scabbard, bent to rifle through the slain Burmecian's pockets, discovered a half-drained potion and a palmful of gil. Like a carrion bird picking at a corpse. The comparison sickened her. There was no such thing as dignity on the field of battle. Aloud, she said, "I'm sorry. We all have to endure things we'd rather have no part in." She wasn't sure who she addressed.

Fighting was easy. It was the aftermath that cut deepest.

For the next ten minutes Beatrix wandered the grotto's dank corridors, contemplating which method would be best employed to tackle a city where rain plummeted from the heavens relentlessly, a watery hazard that made scaling walls treacherous. With the mountains acting as a natural barrier inhibiting a back attack, the only remaining option was to force their way through the gates. The only entrance, it would be stolidly protected -- cornered, they would fight tooth and nail, knowing escape was impossible -- but once cracked the rest of Burmecia would fall into their hands, a well-ripened plum. All that remained to be seen was whether Kuja would send his mages to support the Alexandrians or whether he'd relegate them to clean-up crew.

The next room she entered was littered with the bloody bodies of those too cowardly to meet the Alexandrian advance. One of Beatrix's soldiers, a young woman she didn't recognise, was staring at a corpse whose own lance protruded from his reddened chest. White-rimmed eyes seemed too large on a face distorted by agony. "Overkill," she was muttering, shaking her head.

Beatrix felt like saying, "And what would you prefer? Sending us in one by one, letting us chip away at their defences?" Instead, she pursed her lips and prowled rather noisily into the next chamber, trying to attract the woman's notice. She hoped with a weary vindictiveness that the naïve soldier would have some restless nights after realising her general had been within earshot.

High-ceilinged and spacious, this chamber was better lit than the others. Ornamental statues stood guard around a large pool of water, which despite having no visible method of cycling the liquid appeared fresh. Beatrix spotted Zorn and Thorn, ankle-deep in clear waters, working a kind of fell charm on the grotto's guardian. She watched them complete their ministrations, fearing Kuja would not take well to Squad Beatrix's recent achievements. Likely he'd feel compelled to show off their strange powers, to convince the Queen her investment was wise. The notion rankled, an insistent burr itching at her warrior's prowess. Beatrix disliked stealing lives -- it was Hades' task to call people to the afterlife, not hers -- but she hadn't trained all those years to sit on the sidelines, a meek puppy letting inbred mutts overshadow her.

At the cessation of their magic weaving, the jester twins came scuttling over. Recently, they'd taken to Kuja as if sensing where true power lay. Their new-found arrogance stemming from the perceived protection they received from the wizard was irritating even in its mildest form. "Why do you frown at us so?" said one, tilting his head inquisitively. "Wrongdoing, we have no knowledge of!" declared the other.

She hadn't been frowning at _them_, though they were reprehensible leeches all the same. Beatrix's mood turned fouler. "I highly doubt that. Whatever mischief you two have perpetrated, you'd better hope Her Majesty doesn't turn you out on your hides," she returned, acid coating each syllable.

In mimicry of his brother, Zorn tipped his head, bells jingling mockingly. "Unwarranted is your fury. Assure you, we do. As to our intentions, you don't have a clue."

"I would worry about myself were I you."

In response, Beatrix let her fingers graze the pommel of her sheathed sword, slow and deliberate. With Thorn casting furtive glances over his shoulder, the fools jumped and went scurrying away, narrowly dodging a collision with Squad C which was quick-marching towards the Holy Knight. Their leader called a halt. The cluster of battered albeit capable women formed up to present smart salutes, a number of them wearing adoring expressions on their faces. Flicking sweat-limp hair from her face, Beatrix gave them a curt, "Carry on," before turning away, the shining light of idol-worship in their eyes the last thing she desired to see. A chorus of "Yes ma'am"s struck her back, punctuated by the tinny clang of steel on steel. Any harder and they'd dent their breastplates, she thought with dismay, listening to the sounds of the squad exiting the cavern, energized by adrenaline-charged zeal.

Dense as they were, even the Pluto Knights had better battle sense than some of her cadets. True, they had the woefully manly habit of dropping their gaze to her chest whenever she addressed them, but at least they were too busy following their captain's example of despising every nuance of her, right down to the very air she expelled, to place her on a pedestal.

The grotto's exit, admitting an inviting light, was beckoning. Brisk feet took her outside into the marshy grounds of Daines-horse Basin. Though a thick veil of heavy clouds squatted low in the sky, shielding the sun's harsh edge, in comparison to the murky grotto of Master Gizamaluke the brightness was stunning. Blinking her eyes, only now did Beatrix realise how oppressive the dank confines had been. She looked at the swollen rain clouds and felt herself relax.

For now, it was time to recuperate. The sun would rise again tomorrow.

* * *

Pale blue liquid swirled circles in his mug, the alluring aroma of juniper and mint drifting to find his nose. Sighing into the miniature whirlpool, Steiner took another swig, grimacing at the watered-down taste as he leaned elbows against the wooden table. Ten years. The place still looked the same. If he hadn't known better… If she'd been sitting across from him…

Steiner jerked upright, stung. What. Was. He. _Thinking?_

Grumbles sounded from his hollow stomach, reminding him that aside from that Lindblumese pickle -- and what an experience _that _had been! -- he'd neglected to eat all day. Initially the knight had been too horror-struck to be hungry. Following that embarrassing incident that morning where he'd mistaken Regent Cid for a run-of-the-mill oglop, Garnet had insisted she'd be perfectly safe attending afternoon tea with Minister Artania and his wife sans Steiner as sentinel. A punishment if he'd ever seen one, dismissing him from his post. The silent reprimand was far worse than any verbal chiding Garnet had dealt him since setting out on their adventure, leaving his tongue thick in his mouth.

He_ hated _oglops. Distraught at seeing a bug occupying a throne, his mailed fist had smashed into the ugly pest's face. How was he to know the most powerful man this side of the Mist Continent had been bewitched, transfigured into his most unfavourite thing, a creepy-crawly of the most disgusting calibre?

It was all so unfair!

"Excuse me, miss," he said, beckoning to a passing waiting girl. "May I have something to eat?"

She gave him a look, one that quickly went from flat-eyed to wary as she noted his outlandish attire. Eyebrows disappearing behind her fringe, the girl employed a sugar-coated tone as she asked, "What tickles your fancy?"

"Um…" He fumbled for the menu and blurted the first item that attracted his notice, "Dark Stew sounds… good."

The smile she gave him was so sweet he expected bunny rabbits and rainbows to pop up behind her. Sweet and so very forced. Steiner was beginning to wonder if she'd never seen a suit of armour before. "No problem!" she chirped before gathering some empty plates into her arms and skipping off, casting suspicious glances over her shoulder.

The knight downed the rest of his drink, set it back with a dull thud. Finding himself in the city itself for the first time in a decade Steiner could admit he was daunted by Lindblum's rapid growth spurt, one that made the city swell to at least twice the size of his hometown. Too-tall buildings loomed overhead, crammed together till it was difficult to tell where one ended and the next began. Air cabs brimming with colourful clients juggling bags and small children and parasols zoomed by in a blink. And above it all, weaving airships docking and setting sail for the skies in constant streams.

Then, the people! It was nothing like Alexandria where if he didn't know someone's name at the very least he knew them by sight. Here, every busybody was a stranger. But Lindblum meant safety for his Princess. Running away from Alexandria had placed her life in mortal danger, forcing her to waken each day to a foreign landscape. Probably homesick beyond belief, stubbornly she had insisted Queen Brahne was capable of instigating war on unsuspecting nations. Pledged to serve, Steiner had aided -- _aided!_-- a knavish, common-kissing _rogue _in his ridiculous kidnapping. Thrust into a compromising position, he had chosen princess over queen. When all was said and done, he was still Guardian of the Blood.

And yet, loyalty to Garnet and stalwart belief in his Queen played tug-of-war with his emotions. It was like his heart was slowly being crushed between a mortar and pestle, grinding away until nought remained but dust and drawn out heartstrings. Couldn't Her Highness understand that gentle Queen Brahne, Blessed Under the Eidolons, Defender of the Waterfall City, _her__ own __mother_, was the least likely of all to advocate war? Her entire reign been devoted to fostering peace between nations! Peace-loving, generous of spirit, holding the purest intentions at heart, that was the woman Steiner had dedicated his sword to. Why did Garnet refuse to see that?

Appetite suddenly lost, he shuffled out from between the splintery wooden table and bench that felt hard beneath him. Steiner left some coins on the tabletop and evaded the serving girl's glower as he exited the Doom Pub, pressing past a tall Burmecian on the way. Once outside he had to further fight market-goers both shrewd and extravagant, some determined to strike the best bargain and others more interested in flaunting their wealth. Though in need of a sturdy set of boots, having neither the inclination nor money to shop around Steiner instead made his way to the air cab station where he joined the waiting crowd. It was fortunate he intended on boarding the next vehicle because no sooner had it pulled into the station, the human tide buffeted him, forcing him to board.

A short while later the knight was back in the guest room Regent Cid had provided for their usage, complete with the first decent bed Steiner had set eyes on in weeks. Silk sheets slipping through his fingers drew heat from his body, leaving a cool sensation on his sword-callused palms and a large plush mattress, filled with the fine plumage of Feathered Circles from faraway Esto Gaza, beckoned him into its soft embrace. He would trade in the musty chocobo feathers, leaky thatch roofs and abundance of get-rich-quick books they found in Dali some days past for this luxury in far less than a heartbeat.

Of course he'd be enjoying it a lot more if he wasn't on guard, the endless, head-splitting, don't-blink-or-you'll-miss-it vigil he found himself consumed by that had eventuated thanks to one filthy street urchin who answered (more or less) to Zidane. Sometimes it was "Zidane, Adventurer Extraordinaire" or "The Thief with One Hundred Knives" or "The Love Monkey", all of which made Steiner want to stick pointy metal objects into the teen. This urge was not lessened when, after relentless questioning, he'd uncovered the reason behind the Princess' sudden wont to stand on the opposite side of the room to the light-fingered, lecherous lout. "Soft" indeed!

Hours of standing at attention rendered Steiner about as flexible as his helmet, yet another reason to curse Zidane. He let himself roll his shoulders, trying to ease the crick out of his neck. Breast- and shoulder-plate clashed together, grating agonizing noise across the room. Sitting cross-legged in the center of his bed, Zidane paused his dramatic story to throw a mock-glare over his shoulder and tell "Sir Rust-a-Lot" to "stop adding sound effects".

"Your story hardly needs more embellishment," the knight sniped. Beyond words he studiously avoided locking eyes with Zidane, a gnat beneath his notice. From the corner of his vision he caught Zidane pulling a face at him before turning back to his enraptured audience, a wide-eyed Vivi and a princess whose interest looked disturbingly unfeigned.

"As I was saying," Zidane resumed, annoyed at being shown up, "After ripping off the paper and opening it up, the moogle sprung out and started clawing at the Boss' face, all the while screaming 'Pervert!' The Boss got so worked up he almost crushed the little guy then and there. Turns out he's allergic to moogles too. Sneezed so hard the thing flew clear out of the room! Lucky for it too 'cos he gets mad when people don't listen to him, the Boss does." Shifting his gaze out the window to drink in the nothing-less-than-spectacular Lindblumese skyline, Zidane's eyes grew distant. He shook his head, smiling. "Must've been the worst birthday present in all of Gaia, a rabid fluff-ball. If the Boss wasn't such a loud sleep talker I never would've come up with the idea."

Vivi, who had been hugging a pillow to his chest the entire time, now stuttered one word: "Y-Yikes."

From her place perched at the edge of a large chair, Vivi sitting beside her, Garnet tilted her head to catch the thief's gaze. "It sounds like you had a marvellous childhood, Zidane," she said. "Events like that never occur at the castle. Though I must confess, I don't understand why you would give him a moogle in the first place."

The blonde, grin stuck on his face, turned his attention back to his present situation. "Just because I thought he wanted it. Like I said, he was always mumbling about touching their pompoms or something. Anyhow Dagger, I'm sure people give you all kinds of crap--"

"Zidane!" Steiner admonished.

"--for your birthday. I mean, what the hell--" (Steiner yelled again) "--do you buy a _princess_? Can you imagine how stressed everyone must get tryin' to come up with something unique, something impressive and new?" He flopped onto the bed, tailing stretching straight then coiling up, hands clasped behind his head as he studied the many-patterned roof. "No wonder so many nobles go bald," he sighed wistfully. Wondering what it would be like to want for nothing…? Merciless, Steiner squashed down a flicker of sympathy, recalling that every word Zidane uttered sent drumbeats pounding in his head. The throbbing had begun early that morning after Zidane had hijacked that airship, had only just started subsiding. Now each pulse lasted a little shorter than the previous one. Truth to tell, his head hadn't been the same since meeting the Princess' "kidnapper". In fact, he suspected that by merely laying eyes on the scoundrel a large portion of his brain cells had committed hara-kiri just to avoid the inevitable head trauma that followed being acquainted with Zidane Tribal.

Garnet pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I suppose you consider many of the gifts I receive superfluous, but my benefactors aren't at fault. They only see the heir to a throne, not a person."

Opening his mouth to tell the boy (for the thousandth time) to cease his goading, Steiner watched Garnet's eyes turn to the ball of Vivi curled beside her. He thought he saw indecision flicker in her eyes, as if she wasn't sure what to make of the little wizard. Though he had every confidence in Master Vivi, anxiety still needled at him whenever he regarded Kuja's creation. Vivi couldn't help who he was, but his appearance was enough to draw memories of encounter with the Black Waltzes to the forefront of Steiner's mind.

Those…_things _had attempted to poison him against Queen Brahne, claiming they were her minions, that she had ordered his execution. During the aftermath, Steiner had found himself running circles within the confines of his mind, logic following logic in right-angled turns until he'd reached unthinkable conclusions. Once, just for a second, he'd contemplated what if Queen Brahne truly was a war-mongering tyrant salivating for black power? The instant the notion entered his mind a tide of shame had swallowed him and he'd sat in stunned disbelief, attempting to puzzle out exactly _how _the thought had eventuated. He'd ruthlessly slammed it out -- not just locked it up in some musty prison cell where he could confront it years from then, but removed the ugly stain of treachery in its entirety -- until it was as if the thought had never evolved. After that, amazingly, he hadn't even felt ashamed.

Second-guessing hadn't occurred since, not on a conscious level. However, plugging up emotions was an impossible task. In an attempt to diminish his feelings, he gradually established solid objectives just as a statue is chiselled out. Now the knight knew. All he wanted was his Princess safe and his memories back. The first was as much -- _almost_ as much -- for the country as for him. The second, he supposed, was purely selfish. No one was without flaws.

"Mister Steiner?"

Said knight blinked, peered down at the saucer-sized yellow eyes staring up at him. Steiner coughed and loosened his grip on his sword. "Yes, Master Vivi?"

"Um, are you okay? Zidane's tried to get Dagger to sit on his bed twice now and you haven't said a word."

Anger momentarily spiked through his musings. For the time being, Steiner waved it off. While he despised Zidane's blatant advances perhaps because she was a princess or perhaps simply because she was a maiden who hadn't even received her first kiss, Garnet seemed to have remarkable skill in deflecting his pathetic attempts. Apparently even a well-educated albeit cloistered noble could detect when a man was, as Steiner saw it, merely hoping to satiate his carnal urges and add another trophy to his (venereal disease-ridden) collection.

Steiner smiled down at Vivi. If the lad wasn't wearing that oversized hat that kept dipping over his eyes, the knight felt he'd be overcome by the urge to ruffle Vivi's hair. Barring that -- who knew if Black Mages actually had hair anyway? -- he settled for placing a comforting hand on Vivi's shoulder. "Appreciate your concern as I do, I hasten to assure you I am as hale as ever."

Zidane lifted his head from the pillow, peering over his bent knees towards the other males. "I wish you'd stop talking like that. No one should sound _that_ stiff. It's stupid."

Steiner's eyes swung heavenwards. "I know what's stupid and it's not my speech."

"Lemme guess: me?" Zidane snorted at the notion. "Least I'm not as dumb as you. You're so stupid you think I'm stupider than you, which just isn't right," this said with the swish of a tail and a lazy grin. Vivi's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. Garnet watched the exchange with a look of genuine curiosity that Steiner pretended didn't exist. Fists formed at his sides, whether to punch the thief square in the jaw or to refrain from drawing his sword he couldn't tell. Steiner tried and failed to follow the convoluted sentence. Deciding it wasn't worth rationalising he took half a step forward, glaring down at the laid-back figure Zidane cut.

"And you are a grubby little churl who possesses fewer manners, not to mention wits, than a Zaghnol," he spat contemptuously, eliciting a squeak from Vivi who moved rapidly towards Garnet. The chair she occupied was just large enough for the mage to squeeze into where he huddled beside her, not quite trembling.

Impossible as it was, Zidane's grin widened to display too-white teeth, pearly little bricks in a bad neighbourhood. "There you go again. Keep talkin'. Maybe you'll generate enough hot air to float out that window."

"Grrrrrr!"

"Now who's the Zaghnol?"

"Silence!"

"Since when have you been able to cast magic?"

"Quiet!"

"Like this?" Zidane whispered.

"Enough," Garnet interjected, voice like steel beneath silk, one hand absently petting Vivi's forearm in an effort to placate the timid boy. When the blonde looked as if he might continue, the future queen assumed a regal demeanour and shook her head firmly, emphasising she was serious. Emitting a small, "Tch," Zidane shrugged in a half-chastened, half-defiant manner before resettling himself on his soft bed. For the briefest moment, something in Garnet's eyes flickered, giving away her ruse. She'd been all too happy to let them duke it out -- she'd all but _encouraged_ them, only putting an end to their clash when Vivi became distressed. And in the end she'd chosen Steiner as the victor. He smirked, only now realising that a part of him (a _very_ small part!) worried that Zidane was usurping his place as the Princess' personal bodyguard.

"And scrub that expression off your face, Steiner. General Beatrix may indulge your childish antics but I won't have you play out your nastiness on defenceless civilians."

The armoured one's jaw dropped. Was he _this_ much of an annoyance to Beatrix? Was thief as to knight as captain was to general? Heat flooded his cheeks and with a queasy stomach, Steiner pointed a condemning finger at Zidane. "In--, ant--, _civilians?!"_ his tongue finally settled on. Both shamefaced and furious, he made a mental note to tone down his behaviour a notch or two.

In a headmistress-like fashion, Garnet smiled. "A paladin must uphold the law, not shred it and throw the tattered remnants out the window. Besides, Zidane has grown up on the streets. He lacks the high education good fortune bestowed upon us." -- (Zidane snorted again) -- "In future it would please me if you take that into consideration when addressing him. We owe Zidane our lives, you know," she added off-handedly, as if the knight hadn't heard _that _particular phrase far too many times.

Steiner took some deep breaths, reminding himself that he wouldn't have to put up with Zidane much longer. In fact, he suspected that once Regent Cid tossed some gil the thief's way he'd go skipping off into the sunset and out of Steiner's life. Forever. He relaxed his jaw, wondering whether his teeth were utterly blunt after days of being constantly ground together. "My apologies, Your Highness. I'll not allow rage to take root again."

Zidane murmured something that sounded suspiciously like, "Root, you?" Steiner's eye twitched.

"To think you two still haven't resolved your animosity. After all we've endured you can't even utter more than two sentences without adding an insult." Gaze shifting between Zidane and Steiner, fixing each with a warning stare, Garnet was a tolerant teacher regarding troublesome students. Again, Steiner marvelled at the mature calmness his Princess so effortlessly assumed. Once content that they had mastered themselves, Garnet stood and went into the bathroom that adjoined the guest bedroom to prepare herself for bed.

"Shall I send for a handmaiden?" Steiner questioned. She just smiled and shook her head, closing the door on him. Princesses were meant to be pampered. He wondered how she'd settle back into palace life after Zidane had taught her self-sufficiency.

_Ratt-a-tatt, _came a brisk knocking at their door. A voice, level but carrying a hint of authority, asked, "Is this a bad time?" Steiner cleared his throat, prepared to send whoever was out there on their merry way, when he was beaten to it by Zidane. "Course not!" the blonde said, springing clear off the bed, feet hitting the ground with deft precision. A pointy pink hat caught Steiner's attention first. Next, his eyes were drawn to the furry face beneath it where a small frown was displayed. The expression, melancholy more than anything else, seemed natural on her.

Zidane gave a flourish and a mock bow. "Introducing the Lady Freya Crescent, Dragon Knight of Burmecia. Long-term friend of mine. Don't worry, you'll get used to the smell."

"They must be immune to bad odours by now if they've been travelling with you," the demi-human returned, leaning against the impressive spear she held. Her amused regard for the monkey could only have been fostered over many agonizing years.

"This here's Vivi, Rusty and Dagger," the blonde proclaimed. Upon seeing Freya's perplexed look at the last, he jerked a thumb towards the door's wooden face and amended, "Meaning she's in there."

"Considering it was a toss up between an absent girlfriend or a door, I gathered," Freya said dryly, making Zidane scratch the back of his head sheepishly.

The creak of hinges announced Garnet's return. Unbound and water-sleek, her midnight tresses tumbled down her back, clinging wetly to her neck. Rather than being embarrassed at being caught swaddled in a bathrobe by a complete stranger, the Princess introduced herself as Dagger and within moments had uncovered the reason for Freya's presence -- the Festival of the Hunt -- and began questioning her on the rigours of knight training, something Steiner had always avoided detailing on the off chance that the Princess may actually try emulating training drills in secret. He wouldn't put it past her inquisitive nature.

"Vivi and Zidane are both participating tomorrow. Each very much wants to win," Garnet said, exchanging a smile with the thief that made Steiner feel decidedly out of the loop.

Freya glanced at Steiner, "Yet not you, Master Knight? ("Rusty'll do," said Zidane.) Have you no desire to prove yourself here?"

The Alexandrian shrugged. "Such accolades will not bring Her Highness home, nor protect her from Mist-spawn, gossip or tragedy. Hollow titles hold no practical use for me."

Apart from this brief exchange, Steiner kept to himself for the remainder of the conversation, which degenerated into a discussion about Burmecia's architecture. Predictably, a few seconds in and Zidane's eyes were looking glazed. He yawned loudly, buried himself under a pile of blankets, fully clothed right down to his muddy boots and was soon snoring. Vivi didn't last much longer, though he was more inconspicuous in his dozing. Sparing a fond smile for the little mage, it was with a gentleness contrary to his bulky size that Steiner picked Vivi up and carried him to bed. He took care laying him down, standing back to watch the child snuggle into the fluffy pillow. A grateful sigh and Vivi was already asleep.

With the conversation turning to trade economics between Freya and Garnet's respective nations, Steiner found his eyelids drooping. He took his turn in the bathroom, unfastening the various buckles and fasteners that kept his armour secured, feeling remarkably light once the extra burden fell from his body. Finding fresh garments in the wardrobe, he changed into a comfortable nightgown, walked back to the adjoining chamber -- Garnet must have revealed her true identity for Freya, steepled hat clasped in her clawed fingers, was bobbing her head politely -- and claimed a bed.

The next day, the knight donned his armour once more. He and the Princess set out for home.

* * *

She decided she hated rain. Washing over her, sticking garments and hair to skin, water snuck into her creaking joints, the chill accentuated by the sweat still cooling on her grimy body. Caught out in the wet, feeling doleful and extremely uncomfortable, Beatrix studied the broken statues and chipped architraves of Burmecia's Royal Palace, the collapsed roof providing no haven from the dismal weather. Kuja, enraptured by his own soliloquy, turned circles in the rain, water streaming down the sleeves dangling from his outstretched arms. Beatrix wriggled her toes in her soggy boots and tried to ignore his presence.

"I find this rain quite pleasant…" Kuja mused, running his milky white hand through his hair, face upturned to the rain's gentle kiss. "It feels as though the raindrops are blessing our victory."

'_Our victory. __**Our**__ victory.' _Teeth ground together, rejecting the thought, despising it.

Out of practice, the Burmecians had been slow to react, save the Dragon Knights. Those few had put up a ferocious front, one that would have been easily deflated had archers joined the Alexandrian ranks. Of course, that had been impossible -- water dampened bowstrings, rendering them useless -- but the stratagem presented itself to Beatrix's military-drilled mind nonetheless. As it were, Kuja's Black Mages had struck them down well enough.

Those demons. Them and their unnatural fire that burned even in the wet. It raised her hackles just thinking about it. Contrary to her initial beliefs, in actuality the citizens had turned soft, decades of peace eroding their swords. Between the Mages and the soldiers, Burmecia hadn't stood a chance. It hurt to recall townsfolk who had picked up stones or broomsticks or carving knives in a show of defiance rather than out of any real hope of supporting their warriors. The women cradling babes in their arms, desperation undercutting stark terror shining in their eyes. The elderly, backs bowed beneath time's heavy press, inhibited from either running or fighting. She didn't think her own subordinates would be so cowardly as to strike an unarmed foe -- a bare few perhaps, the ones that bloodlust or fear overwhelmed, but most of the Alexandrians knew when a fight was won -- but the Black Mages did not discriminate.

Children's bodies burned side by side with dragoons'.

Beatrix wasn't a god. She couldn't always be there to stop atrocities as they commenced. Yet while her naivety had been snuffed out long ago, the pain was no less sharp -- part of her still _felt_ she could have done more, even if her general's mask denied it. Sometimes she thought it was easier to live thinking, _'I can change the world. I can defend those incapable of defending themselves,' _then to live knowing this to be a lie.

"This is a great victory for us! Kuja, your Black Mages made this conquest so simple." Queen Brahne's voice seemed out of place in this graveyard. Rain slid along her forearms, stopping in the grooves of her fatty rolls. Beatrix averted her gaze.

'_Who needs magic to wreak havoc on civilians? My soldiers would have been more than enough to shatter such a flimsy defence. What is so appealing about his power?'_

Even as she wondered, she knew. Sufficient power wasn't the same as adequate power. Having enough wouldn't do. There was always more and more and more. This rash Brahne whose girth seemed to swell with her greed made Beatrix's chest tighten as she wondered,_ 'What has become of my gentle Queen?'_

The smile Kuja gave her was two shades short of malicious. It made her skin want to crawl off her body, leaving her stripped bare to his intent. _He_ was the reason. Him and his brass promises, his honey-coated lies.

"Beatrix, what's taking so long!" Her Majesty spat, entire body shaking.

She bobbed her head, saying, "I don't know, Your Majesty. I've ordered Zorn and Thorn to search the perimeter, but there's been no word so far." The report sketched an outraged look on her liege's face and Beatrix hastily added, "I will join them and lead the search right away," turning to leave immediately.

"You're wasting your time."

Beatrix doubled back to take a good look at the one who had so rudely addressed her. She replied, irritated, "What?"

"Rats often look for new homes when they sense an earthquake. They probably moved to the sandy tree house by now… So, you see, it's too late. The King has already turned tail and fled."

The Queen frowned, deepening the creases in her fleshy cheeks. "Sandy tree house… Surely you don't mean Cleyra!"

From the ghost of a smirk on his face, that was exactly what he meant. Long isolated, merely being foreign couldn't account for the sense of mystery imbibed at the sound of the settlement's name. It was unheard of to travel to Cleyra, not only because of the magical sandstorm that raged endlessly, encompassing the city, making it nigh impossible to enter, but also because of the surrounding desert terrain. Even journeying from Burmecia, its closest neighbour, would prove trying for a lone traveller, the way scorching during daytime and freezing once the sun set. That wasn't mentioning the multitude of desert dwelling monsters, all hungry for human flesh, that roamed the dry dunes.

With their flagship and cavalry they could bypass most of the danger. The whirlwind though… That would pose a problem. "Cleyra…" Beatrix murmured, testing the word, "Unless we get through the sandstorm it will be impossible to attack them."

A furious hiss. Queen Brahne looked livid. "Sneaky rats! Kuja, what do you think? Surely, with your power, there must be something you can do!"

A grin crossed Kuja's face, twisting his features as he stepped closer to the Queen. "Of course, Your Majesty. I will present you with a marvellous display of my power. I am certain that you will be most pleased." His eyes, snake's pupils, slid to Beatrix as he added, "I was wondering if you would gather your troops near Cleyra. I'm certain those filthy rats will retaliate in full force, and my Black Mages might not be enough."

The off-handed comment -- it was phrased as a request, yet uttered in the manner of one who expects to be obeyed and is merely undergoing formalities -- made her frown. Let Kuja see how displeased she was with him. Bound by duty, unable to resist the suggestion, the General nodded grimly, "Of course."

"Burmecia will never fall! Prepare to die!"

The words rang, valiant and hollow, throughout the ruins. Beatrix, who had observed the soldier's approach, now shook her head, mildly amused. "You wish to fight me, Beatrix of Alexandria?"

The declaration made the demi-human start and involuntarily back up a couple of steps. Dumbly, he repeated his opponent's name, the title striking horror in otherwise defeated eyes. The legendary knight placed one hand on the hilt of Save the Queen, ready to draw. Coldly, she told him, "I commend your courage, but I will show you no mercy."

"Hold it!" came the next cry. Another Burmecian, followed by a blonde boy and what appeared to be a tiny Black Mage -- the prototype, judging by Kuja's avaricious gaze -- entered the scene. Beatrix shook her head, feeling she was part of a well-orchestrated stage-play. In defiance, she slid her sword out, baring its steel face to the rain's soft caress.

The Dragon Knight's eyes regarded Save the Queen warily. She called to her endangered ally, "We'll take care of this. Go find the King. Protect him with your life," attention never wavering.

"…Thank you, Freya," the other replied gratefully before quickly retracing his steps and exiting the half-destroyed room. She let him. Such a weakling was no threat. Anyhow, after his chance for heroism, his courage appeared to be spent.

A drowned rat. A defunct weapon. A boy. These ones would prove no better.

"I've never been so humiliated in my life."

The blonde teenager balled his fists, inhaling a quick burst of air through clenched teeth. That barely reined anger… Steiner… How could he justify supporting the Princess' decision to go traipsing across half the continent? What was he _thinking?_

She shook her head, banishing the thoughts. Fury at her lapse in concentration struck her like a blow. It wasn't her job to think about these things!

"I once killed a hundred knights single-handedly…" she informed her opponents. Vividly, she recalled that first real battle where she'd rallied the troops and defended her city, avenged a mercenary's death, stole a sword. Beatrix gritted her teeth, hands clamping against Save the Queen's hilt until her knuckles went white. She had _earned_ this. "To me, you two are nothing more than insects," she spat, feeling Brahne and Kuja move away. The old scar on her face felt hot again, a streak of fire against ice.

Soundlessly, the Burmecian flew at her. Beatrix parried the flurry of attacks, made to step inside her enemy's guard. Lightning quick, Freya jumped backward, keen to maintain the advantage of distance. At the same time, a Fire spell burst from the mage's hands, covering the withdrawal.

Blade held defensively, Beatrix allowed Save the Queen to absorb the impact. The metal warmed her hands. "Too weak," she muttered, summoning Thunder Slash. Showcasing her own speed, the General darted forward to take out the prototype.

"Vivi!" the blonde yelled, pushing his companion out of harm's way in the nick of time. The lightning bolt slammed into the earth, spraying fragmented rock everywhere. Vivi hit the ground with a little grunt. A spear-point suddenly materialized out of the smokescreen. Beatrix had to twist to dodge the jump attack. Close to enough to hear the Burmecian's frustrated hiss, she managed a short swing, cutting a shallow gash in Freya's left flank.

"You…!" the blonde struck out with twin daggers. Working Save the Queen in wet hands, Beatrix parried the attacks, sidestepping to drive the boy back into Vivi, who was still picking himself off the ground. They connected. The unexpected contact and the wet surface sent the blonde tumbling backwards to land sprawled on slick stones. The mage's hands slipped from beneath him and he fell flat on his face.

Freya yanked her javelin from the ground and started rushing towards Beatrix now, the wound hardly seeming to trouble her. The General frowned. This brief bout had been enough to evaluate their skills. Curiosity sated, there was no point insulting them by prolonging such a one-sided match. She met Freya's spear squarely. Weapons locked, Beatrix used all her strength to shove the other away.

Eager-eyed, the blonde sprung to his feet, declaring, "You'll never get away with this!"

Beatrix simply shook her head. The strong got away with whatever they wanted to. "You're no match for me," she replied evenly.

Stock Break sent them to their knees.

* * *

Steiner stopped considering the sword Zidane had acquired during one of his stop-overs in Treno, the one that seemed to pulsate with dark power. He raised his head and peered out the window of the cable cart.

In the distance, he could _swear_ he heard thunder.


	9. VIII: Bravely Forward

**Chapter VIII****  
**_**Bravely Forward**_

* * *

Beatrix's rain-soaked company seemed to be characterised by less-than-burnished armour, muddy battle boots and the occasional notched sword, their dishevelled appearance offset by a marked increase in number of cocky grins and loud boasts. It wouldn't hurt to dispel their victory-high with a few simple exercises. Even Beatrix, who didn't have to think in terms of sword forms anymore, made sure to cycle through them every now and then. Nowadays, she spent the majority of her spare time trying to perfect the White Magic that came so easily to Princess Garnet but no matter how much effort she exerted, she never seemed to quite get the hang of it.

"Keep drilling them," she told the Lieutenant. If the general still needed training, they surely did.

"Ma'am, is that really necessary? We vanquished Burmecia! These primitive Cleyrans…" Lieutenant Stefanie shrugged, indicating she thought their opponents about as dangerous as a flock of bushy-tailed Mus.

Beatrix lifted an eyebrow, dismayed that their easy victory had only fuelled her troops' overconfidence rather than tampering it. "They're arrogant. They fight a handful of battles and think themselves veterans. Keep drilling them or I'll do it for you, and I think we both know how much they'd enjoy that," she said wryly.

From the way her eyes widened, the soldier's mind provided ample concept of what a training session under General Beatrix would entail. "Of course, ma'am, of course," she replied, head nodding with such celerity Beatrix was surprised when it didn't drop right off.

The General dismissed the flustered woman and made her way up the _Red Rose_'s gangplank, which was lined by soldiers saluting sharply. On board, others were busily preparing Alexandria's flagship for departure, movements organised and precise. Rain tapped a rhythmic beat against the wooden deck. Tugging at her shirt, which was clinging uncomfortably to her shoulders, Beatrix decided she wouldn't be sorry to see the last of Burmecia. She cast a glance across the milling deck and, pleased her troops were set to task, let herself into her cabin. The guard posted outside didn't even have time to react -- poised with fist to chest, horror-struck, she stammered an apology for failing to open the door first.

The brunette refrained from making a snide comment about having hands of her own -- gods, she _was _on edge if her emotions were simmering that close to the surface -- and instead chose to nod reassuringly at the guard. The girl smiled then hastened to restrain the expression. As some measure of formality, Beatrix let her close the door behind her. It was with a small, grateful sigh that she sank into a chair, happy for the time alone, even if it was to sift through battle damage assessments.

At the top of the neat stack sitting on her desk there was a paper detailing the activities of the Black Waltzes. The remnants of one had been discovered a little way from South Gate station while the whereabouts of the others remained unknown. Her elbow propped on the desk, she rested her head in her hand and stared at the words for a moment. Telling herself staring at the page wouldn't increase the chance of the Waltzes conveniently materialising in the room, she shuffled the paper to the bottom of the pile.

Some minutes passed in this fashion. She had just flipped to a report on food rations when a knocking at the cabin door startled Beatrix from her work. She called a brisk, "Come in," and turned in her chair to regard the visitor.

"I have a favour to ask," Kuja began.

Fighting the frown from her countenance, Beatrix returned to studying the report lying before her. A few moments ticked by. When the waiting didn't make him shift his feet nervously like it would have her other visitors, eventually she deigned to answer him with, "I'll not grant it."

"Then let me put it to you this way: I've devised a plan to conquer this tree but need your troops. You'll send them to scale the trunk, drawing the Cleyrans' eyes while my Mages teleport straight into the heart of their settlement."

"It will be more than their eyes I draw," Beatrix said, setting down her quill.

Kuja scoffed. "Shying at the prospect of fighting, my lady?"

That was enough to elicit a derisive snort from Beatrix. "A diversion," she stated baldly, "Not a fight." She turned her head to see him standing in the doorway, one hand supporting his willowy frame against the jamb, the other resting on his hip. A mocking light gleamed in his pearl-like eyes. Sacrificing soldiers for the greater good wasn't beyond her but dancing to his tune, just as she'd done in Burmecia, would not serve. When she considered that his Mages could act the distraction yet he still chose to test her, to place _her _soldiers in peril, the tactic appeared especially repulsive.

Beatrix let him sample her icy glare. "You think I'll agree to such a ploy? You think I'll condemn my soldiers for the sake of your pitiful excuse to spill Alexandrian blood?"

Kuja moved -- sauntered -- into her cabin, shutting the door behind him, his sleeves swirling a soft susurrus through the stuffy air. He cast his gaze down towards the papers littering her desk. "You wound me! On the contrary, dear Lady Rose, I trust to your honour that you will carry out this request. You're in my debt, after all." He picked a sheet up, making a bored sound as he scanned the page.

Beatrix bristled. The man was a joke.

"You're referring to Lindblum," she said, "You Silence me then watch them take out my eye and still you think I owe you? The only thing I'm willing to give you is an injury twin to my own!" Barely restrained anger rippled in her voice.

He looked at her over the top of the page, intense, the cracks in her façade drawing his interest. "I quietened you so you wouldn't betray your country. Even the coldest warrior is capable of breaking if enough pressure is applied. I knew you'd never forgive yourself if that were to happen. My loyalties were proven that day when I couldn't stand by and let them do away with you, when I chose you. And what do I get for thanks? You shun my counsel, turning to your knight's code and garnet-encrusted sword for comfort instead!"

He almost sounded sincere. "Damn your counsel!" Beatrix closed her eye, tried to set her emotions in check. "Keep your forked tongue clamped behind your teeth!"

Three steps. Suddenly he was standing too close, warm breath falling gently on her face. Snow-soft fingers delicately brushed her hair away, tucking locks behind her ear. "But as I began, I do not need to convince you. Mere suspicion of foul play is not sufficient for your heart to feel free of obligation's chains. I remain Brahne's favourite. Your _honour_," he sneered the word, making it sound ugly, a strange counterpoint to the tender way he was stroking her hair, "is what will make you say 'yes' in the end."

Still refusing to look at him, the brunette batted away his hand. In the same heartbeat she was on her feet, turning her back on him. Thickly, she swallowed. "They'll be ready," she said, hating him because he was right, hating herself for being so damn predictable. In the end, Hades take her, she _did_owe him.

"A promise it is. And you'll be able to satisfy your thirst to prove yourself," he sneered the last. Beatrix flinched. She could imagine the satisfied smile he'd be wearing as he left the room, shutting the door with a dull thud of wood meeting wood. She waited until the footsteps died away then slumped back in her chair and tried to ignore the world for a while._ 'Forgive me,' _she implored a nameless god, _'Just let me absolve myself and I can start again.'_

After this, there was only one more person to repay.

* * *

She had said, "I'm going to Treno," and his heart had plummeted. Dreary buildings loomed overhead, casting the town in even deeper shadow, some ramshackle structures seeming to defy gravity as they tipped precariously towards the litter-strewn streets. For every interesting sample of architecture there was an equally shabby tin shelter festering in the slums. The lake, which surrounded the Tetra Master stadium, served to enhance the general feeling of woe lingering in the polluted air, its murky grey depths concealing troves of unknown nasties, base creatures who gladly fed on the city's detritus. Locked in never-ending night, the Dark City was home to noble and pickpocket alike, both breeds living in a strange kind of symbiosis.

Steiner wondered what a figure he cut, a reputable-looking knight trailing two disreputable-looking thieves. The young girl in their midst drew interested looks from shifty characters who soon backed off after a stare from the bandanna-clad man leading the group. His out-of-shape nose, testament to battles fought and survived, was probably deterrent enough for those cowardly curs. Marcus tugged at his bandanna -- it was a wonder he could walk straight with that thing sitting halfway down his face -- and turned down a particularly crooked alleyway. The only noteworthy buildings along the street were an inn that smelled strongly of old ale and a house of ill-repute where numerous seedy-looking men congregated outside smoking. Thankfully, it was the inn that the Tantalus brother chose to enter. Given the alternative, Steiner emitted a relieved sigh.

Once inside, Marcus exchanged a nod with the bartender, ignoring the drunk slouched on a distant table towards the corner and moved deeper into the establishment. Steiner eyed the seated man -- he appeared to have passed out but there was no telling with street-scum -- and stepped closer to the Princess, who was inspecting the one-room inn with interest. Sighing, the knight refrained from grasping at the Blood Sword. Its weight was comfortable, resting at his side in exchange for the belt dagger he'd reluctantly given up at his liege's insistence that she needed one in case of emergency. He'd told her allowing her to carry a weapon was like admitting he was a poor knight. She'd said she meant no offence but he should swallow his pride for the sake of practicality because being unprepared was a greater failing than having someone slip past his guard.

The memory made him sigh again. It _was_an insult, no matter her intentions -- a deceptively sweet girl, she was actually very good at bullying. Testament to Garnet's stubbornness, he remembered she'd been less than ten when she'd eventually managed to wheedle a first White Magic lesson out of Beatrix. The image of the abashed General being harshly scolded by a little raven-headed girl for not complying with her wishes lifted his spirits. He didn't feel so trampled on if _Beatrix_was willing to lower her high opinion of herself and fall victim to Garnet's negotiating skills.

In any case, this secondary sword was easier to access than the one ordinarily strapped to his back. Steiner had the lurking inkling it would come in handy one of these days.

"You comin' or what?" Baku's loud voice drifted from somewhere below them, bouncing off the room's close confines. Marcus worriedly peered around, looking for signs his Boss had disturbed the precarious peace. The only answer came in the form of a snort from the drunk, who proceeded to slide off his table onto the broken bottle- and used napkin-strewn floor. Either ignorant or uncaring of potential danger, Garnet laid a hand on Steiner's forearm to guide him out of her way and started descending first one uneven staircase leading into the dismal sleeping quarters, then another, even shonkier one. It creaked alarmingly beneath Steiner's feet.

"Princess! Please reconsider!" he begged, uncaring of the impression he would leave on the Tantalus men. He would follow her to world's end should she ask, but to let her become a thief… to watch her abase herself without at least attempting to deter her… _that_was truly reprehensible.

Standing by mutely was the worst service he could do her.

Clanking down the staircase, he told himself the blame should be laid solely at Zidane's smelly feet. Whisking the Princess from the castle's safety, corrupting her with his country-bumpkin ways. Taking advantage of her innate kindness. Protecting her simply because he wanted to.

Steiner shook his head. Now wasn't the time to doubt a thief's guilt.

He called out to his liege one last time -- she was exchanging words with that damn Baku, who lent her his arm and helped her board a boat that seemed built of driftwood. Momentarily taken aback by Baku's display of manners, Steiner shook his head and clambered into the vessel. Having seen better days, it excelled itself by barely moving when Steiner stepped into it. He heaved a sigh. His relief was short-lived: the boat promptly sank at least four inches as Baku climbed aboard. Steiner sent a furtive prayer to Alexander.

As they drifted down the filthy underbelly of Treno, Steiner wrinkled his nose against the sewer-stench assailing him. Idly, he toyed with the feather on his helmet, hoping that whatever fortune it carried would see them through this plight, praying the rusting suit of armour he wore would protect him as it had his father. He tried not to look each time an oar beat against some foul debris, but focusing on anything else was painful. Beneath a veneer of tranquillity, Princess Garnet's face bore worry lines at the corners of her eyes, creases unfitting on a girl her age. The sight made his heart lurch, his sadness only magnified by the knowledge he could do naught to alleviate such royal concerns. The thieves' presence was equally distressing, a nagging reminder that he was playing party to organised crime. The fact that his liege condoned it brought small measure of comfort to such an upright man as Steiner.

But it did make the difference.

The boat continued its stealthy approach towards its destination. After some turns down the meandering corridors of the city's underbelly, which Steiner belatedly realised he hadn't been counting, a docking point appeared. Silence blanketed the group as their berth drew near. The sound produced as the bow bumped into the canal's stone edge seemed painstakingly loud and Steiner half expected a dozen Treno guards to come racing round the corner. He glanced at his ward. Those traces of worry had fled now, replaced by calm conviction.

Pride bolstered, the knight smiled. If he was to turn thief, at least he'd be doing so under the future queen of Alexandria's competent eyes.

'_This is all your fault, Zidane,'_ he thought, unsure whether he was condemning or praising the boy.

* * *

The_ Red Rose_ hadn't even touched ground when a lone warrior bounded over the railings. She landed lightly on the sandy earth, crouching, getting her bearings. It was without so much as a glance over her shoulder that she straightened and made her way towards Cleyra.

Enthralled as they were by the strange sight of an airship, registering the woman's appearance came secondary to the pair of lancers serving as guards to the trunk's entrance. By the time they perceived the naked blade she carried, it was slicing across their flesh. A single swipe was all the effort required to fell the demi-humans. They lay twitching as the remnants of their lifeblood seeped away. One gazed up at his vanquisher, confusion etched on his furry features. Straining a desperate hand for her, he took a shuddering breath. "What's happening?" he wheezed.

"You are dying," Beatrix replied. She looked at his companion, who had not been fatally wounded and deigned it well to let him carry warning to the settlement. She didn't need to tell him to leave. The coward scurried on all fours, eventually lurching to his feet to go scampering up the trunk.

Letting him alone, she shifted her attention to an oncoming group of Alexandrians. The women formed up and offered salutes, wearing identical armour polished to shining and identical grim expressions. The long march hardly seemed to have affected them.

Major Wilkes indicated the company. "Squads A through D reporting, ma'am. Squad M remains on standby, as do our reserves."

The General nodded at each Squad Leader. The named groups had been instrumental in the taking of Gizamaluke's Grotto, marking them familiar with close-quarters combat while the less seasoned fighters stayed in waiting to cover any retreat. Guardedly, she observed the tail-end of the company, a small cluster of Black Mages provided for their withdrawal. Once they had attracted the Cleyrans' eyes, it would be up to these golems to carry them to safety. Beatrix didn't like relying on the creatures -- the fear of treachery was too real -- but it was a chance worth taking. Given the choice between a possible betrayal and being definitely left to flee on foot, logic won out in the end. Kuja's pets provided a lifeline, if an uncertain one.

Gesturing towards the tree, its eerie limbs twisting overhead like a bird of prey poised to swoop and sink its talons into fresh meat, she warned, "Recall there are more than Cleyrans in there. Mist-spawn lurk even this far from home. Now," she pointed her sword-arm forwards, "Advance."

"Ma'am!"

Falling into a brisk trot, the company entered the forbidding structure. If they had reservations about walking into such a death trap they did well to hide them. Beatrix felt herself sink into the sand, each step more difficult than the last, creating the uncomfortable impression she was being swallowed by earth. Nevertheless, she pressed on, the scraping sounds of metal they emitted interrupting the soft hiss of cascading sand, turning the soldiers into something unnatural, inorganic.

A woman's yell cut the hot air. As one, the group spun, drinking in the sight of a soldier being slowly dragged underneath by a whirlpool of quicksand. As if that weren't enough, the shifting sands surrounding them welled up and solidified into a host of Sand Golems.

"S-Someone!" the soldier flailed desperately, panic driving her voice to a high-pitched screech, like a sword shrieking as it's being drawn from its scabbard. An answering scream echoed around them as Carrion Worms began squirming from various holes, sensing a meal-to-be. Their beady eyes flashed hungrily, eager for human meat, their appearance filling the air with the rank smell of decay. Beatrix slashed at the nearest monster -- while they preferred to feast on already dead creatures, in a hoard like this they would tackle live prey -- and forced her way forward. That soldier was still yelling, desperate. Beatrix gritted her teeth, knowing it was useless. The girl was dead, dead, _dea_--

"Help her!" she threw at a nearby soldier.

A Sand Golem's fist went crashing past, splitting the air with a _woosh!_ She severed the limb and unleashed Climhazzard, letting it tear through him and another of his kind. Pushing back unruly hair, she yelled for her soldiers to finish the job and attacked again. A quick glance at the trapped woman revealed she was no longer in danger: one of her comrades was stretching across the churning sand to grasp a trembling hand and pull her from the pit. Beatrix refused to let herself feel relief, told herself the woman would likely die today anyway.

Looking around, the battle seemed under control. Brisk steps took Beatrix to the next level where she eliminated any Zus or Worms that waylaid her. Fed by never-ending streams of coarse sand trickling from above, the quicksand pools were a constant danger -- she made sure to sidestep the pits, on occasion pausing to direct her troops around the more perilous parts. The sounds of the brief skirmish were fading against the broad dawn sky. Judging they were halfway up the tree, the General waved Catherine on with instructions to confirm their position. The blonde nodded, made to turn the next corner and came face-to-chest with a tall Cleyran.

Beyond the encounter, Beatrix wordlessly urged, _'Kill him.'_

A blink, then hands were reaching for weapons. Catherine sprang back, seeking room to swing her sword but the demi-human, a fraction faster, had his short spear darting forward. Its steel-tipped point found its mark, biting deep through mail and flesh. Catherine lost her grip on the sword and sank to the ground, clutching the wound, eyes shut as if such a feeble action would ward off the pain. As she watched, _'Weimer will be heartbroken,' _slipped inanely into Beatrix's head.

Another Alexandrian exacted vengeance on the Cleyran before Beatrix could attend her friend. Kneeling, her eyes expertly skimmed the woman's body. Some quickly muttered words and Cura sealed the puncture in her leg, leaving behind a shiny circle of scar tissue. Stagnant around them, the desert air was now ripe with the stench of oozing blood and faeces.

The blonde's eyes crept open. With a sheepish smile, she sat up and began testing out her healed leg. Her bright gaze met Beatrix's tired one. "Sorry," she said.

Beatrix turned away, shaking her head. "Better you thanked me," she said. Apologies cut deeper than swords. She shook her head and reminded herself the general _needed_ apologies -- it was the woman that wanted gratitude instead.

Before further words were exchanged, another soldier appeared at the Holy Knight's shoulder, a haggard look dulling her features. Her uniform was torn, her shield half-shattered. "General, the Cleyrans come in force," she reported.

Beatrix looked towards the source of in-flowing rats. The morning sun cast elongated shadows on the tree's interior, faux-warriors that were too narrow and lean, making it seem the Cleyrans were double in number. Indeed, it seemed most of their might was now concentrated here. The trap was set, the feint played out. Shadow puppets danced on the walls.

It wouldn't take long before the Cleyrans noticed something amiss.

"Announce the withdrawal as per our plan. Your part in this is done."

The order was passed along. Soon shimmering balls began materialising in the arid air as the Black Mages began teleporting soldiers back to the sanctuary of the _Red Rose_. Against her better will, Beatrix found herself asking Catherine, "You're certain you can still do this?"

Flourishing her blade, the Major grinned. "Of course," she declared.

The knowledge that what she was about to do was of necessity did nothing to soften the blow of depending on Kuja. Beatrix waved over a Black Mage. Well-disciplined, it metamorphosed into a wavering ball, ready for teleportation. To Catherine, she said, "Summon Squad C. We go to war."

* * *

The Gargant was hungry. Supposedly.

Steiner sighed yet again -- he wouldn't have been surprised to find he was affecting Gaia's wind currents. The arm stretched above his helmeted head had begun to ache, the pose tugging at the old wound in his shoulder. Drops of sweat slipped into his eyes. He squinted and peered up into the dark. The stale, earthy scent of a crypt kept trying to creep into his nostrils, making the task all the more distasteful.

"Try over there," Marcus said, watching the knight's progress from his position lounging against a nearby wall. "Guard duty," he'd called it, adding a toothy grin to that woefully overblown declaration, which had almost sent Steiner into cardiac arrest.

Steiner tried to ease the pressure his jaw was exacting on itself for fear he'd bust a tooth. He lowered his arm, wiping sweat from his forehead. Gods, this place was a hell hole! "I already did."

"No, you didn't."

With a cry, Steiner flung the thrice-damned piece of grass away. It bounced along the ground to land at the thief's feet, scattering the tiny rock fragments in its path. "This is lunacy!" he muttered angrily, wondering why, if the Gargant was so hungry, it persisted in running circles around the complex, following that same accursed track instead of eating.

Marcus scratched at his nose and pushed himself off the wall, "I'll try." He bent to retrieve the discarded grass stem. Steiner gave him a flat look but couldn't rouse the will to protest. Being upstaged by a criminal wasn't so terrible a prospect as a less weary, less stressed version of himself would have thought.

The faint tapping of footsteps sounded from down a corridor. Dr Tot poked his head around the corner, deep in conversation with Princess Garnet. His spectacles flashed as he tilted his head back to peer into Steiner's worn visage. "It's here," he answered the unspoken question, holding up a bottle filled with black liquid for the knight's inspection, "Sorry we took so long. Clearly my head was up with the stars again, for the few drops that remained in my stock room wouldn't have done the job."

"We had to search the sundries of three separate shops before we found some," Garnet put in.

The bottle's presence was enough to leech some of Steiner's tension. "A sight for sore eyes if there ever was one," he said.

Tot uncorked the bottle and approached a rusty device, which had previously refused to yield to Steiner and Marcus' combined tugging. Deftly, he held a handkerchief to the bottle's opening, upended it and went about wiping down the mechanism. The oil seeped into ancient grooves and cogs, stirring them from their slumber. This time it only took the Doctor's gentle touch and the machine moved effortlessly, a claw-like metal appendage unfolding from the rails, dangling an appetising grass stem in the Gargant's path. It _was_ hungry after all -- the bait was sufficient to halt the creature's mindless circling.

"Quick, while it feeds!" Tot urged, ushering the trio into the carriage-like contraption hanging from the Gargant's shiny back. Staring up, it looked far larger from such a perspective, its mandibles clicking noisily, the short hairs standing up clearly on its legs. Steiner was relieved it was vegetarian.

Garnet inclined her head, "Thank-you, Dr Tot. I'm glad you didn't forget me."

Tot chuckled. "You'll always be my student. I can't tell you what a thrill it is to teach someone who is actually interested in learning. Here in Treno, the children who visit me only want to play inside that globe of Gaia you saw sitting at the top of my tower." He turned his sharp, black eyes on the knight then, adding, "Please look after the Princess, Master Steiner."

"Of course!"

Tot pitched his voice low, "The Princess is bright but she is still young and naïve. I am concerned about her safety. Please make your own decision on the matter at hand and protect her."

Steiner must have been missing the point. Surely Tot wasn't suggesting… "I am but a humble knight. I cannot exceed my authority…" he recited, shifting uncomfortably.

"Is that an honest answer?" Tot's piercing gaze seemed to slice away duty and hierarchy. "You may endanger the Princess if you keep telling yourself that."

Steiner acknowledged him with a salute, "…I shall take note of your counsel."

Tot moved to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. In response, the Gargant stirred restlessly. "Better hurry it up, Sir Rustbucket," Marcus called, giving the creature a dubious look. Steiner was secretly pleased that the Gargant could disconcert even Marcus, worldly as he was.

Half-concerned about how readily he answered to that name, the knight stepped into the carriage, prompting the giant insect to take off at a pace that was surprising for a creature its size. Dr Tot stood watching their departure, one hand raised in farewell. Steiner stared after him for as long as possible before the thick Mist enshrouded his form to shadows, then even that disappeared completely. Unease, like chilly river water, began seeping past his armour and into his body, making him shift restlessly as the Gargant made its first turn, then another and another until Steiner lost count. Finally, it came to a shuddering stop.

Skin crawling, Steiner told Garnet to stay where she was and leaped from the carriage. The Mist obscured everything; the tip of his raised sword before him ended abruptly in the murk. Absently, he touched the feather decorating his helmet, praying luck wouldn't fail him now. When Marcus stepped up to guard his back, it wasn't beyond the knight to cast him a grateful look. Among the oppressive silence, he was glad for an ally.

Eventually, Marcus murmured, "Maybe it was nothing?"

"Hush!" Steiner barked.

The monster's teeth sank into his side, crumpling armour in its grip. The shock sent air from his lungs in a rush. He flailed, trying to throw the thing off, unable to twist his sword-arm to strike. The pressure around his middle increased, squeezing whatever breath remained from his lungs. The sound of puncturing metal filled the air -- he caught a flash of teeth before they were buried in his skin. Light-headed, the battle turned to retaining awareness.

Vaguely, he heard Marcus utter a curse and the next moment the crushing force ceased to be. Steiner staggered, blinking to clear the spots from his eyesight, gasping for breath. His lungs were afire! He fell to his knees, chest throbbing.

The Princess called his name. A moment later she was near, one arm looped over his shoulder while she worked her White Magic. The spell lifted the burning sensation and made him spin away, retching. Yelling for him to stay back, Garnet disappeared into the Mist.

This wasn't right. Vows and oaths, the weight of a sword on his shoulder, they flashed before his eyes as he thought, _'It is __**I**__ who protects __**her**__!'_and regained his feet. The swirling fog concealed all, even the sounds of skirmishing -- and suddenly he was back in that narrow corridor with a soot-stained little girl sobbing over a corpse. He turned and turned and turned and then he saw Garnet emerge, she and Marcus and his bloody thief's sword at her side. He recalled his father's disapproving grey eyes and, _**'Sometimes, being a man means stepping down and letting a more suitable person take your place,'**_ and felt he must surely be rent in two from the shame of his failure.

"You okay?" Marcus prompted.

Steiner gave him a flat look, all notion of camaraderie fled. Stiffly, he thanked his Princess. His disposition towards Marcus coupled with the tight words of gratitude made her sigh and wave him away.

"Almost home…" she murmured.

When they started off again, he let Marcus have the privilege of sitting beside her. The remainder of the journey passed in a blur of Mist while the old air blew into his face. When the Gargant finally stopped, they clambered from their perch and climbed a set of worn stairs, the dust prints they left behind lending proof to Gargan Roo's decay. Much time and effort would have to be expended if Dr Tot would restore it.

Marcus sniffed. "Smells like an open grave."

"The Princess need not hear reports from your nose," Steiner huffed, casting a sidelong glance at her. From the way she was studying the mosaic pattern inlaid in the ground, chipped and scuffed, she either hadn't heard or had grown accustomed to his manner of speaking. The knight sighed, resigning himself to the fact that it was too late to protect her from Marcus' peasant tendencies before he'd even reached the top of the staircase.

Garnet lifted her gaze from the worn floor tiles and looked at the Captain. "I fail to comprehend how such a remarkable place could pass unused and fall into such a decrepit state. We must needs see it restored to its former splendor."

Stopping beside her, Steiner gave the floor a cursory look. "In peace-time, even the most diligent of us tend to grow complacent about such things," he said.

Marcus had a blunter way of putting it. "People get lazy when their lives aren't in danger. It's a good thing you've got friends looking out for you, Princess," he said as he brushed past.

The insult in the words was clear. Forgoing the promise Garnet had wrung out of him at South Gate, forcing him to set aside his disgust at her "friends", Steiner grabbed the thief by the shoulder. "Now listen here," he began.

He never reached the end of the sentence. It seemed his luck had run out.

* * *

The tiny, dusty road, so different to the harsh blue cobblestone of Alexandria, was teeming with wild-eyed Cleyrans. Bodies were already littering the market-place, keeping company with discarded belongings and overturned flowerpots while the cathedral on the hill regarded the destruction apathetically.

The scenery changed but the reactions were always the same. Beatrix knew them, could predict them with all the familiarity of an old friend. She found herself capable of pinpointing the exact moment clarity fled her victims' eyes and desperation hijacked their senses, making them lash out in a last-ditch try for salvation. Perhaps, she told herself, after seeing so much horror it was a kindness to put these ones out of their misery.

The scene, which she found herself a key player in, was hectic.

Crimson cloak whirling behind her, she spun to meet her next opponent, sweat-soaked face wrought with determination. Save the Queen halted an incoming blow and twisted to deliver a brutal counter-stroke, tearing the hapless dragoon apart. His scream was lost in the sea of voices crashing around the fatigued warrior.

Beatrix paused to mop wet hair from her brow, privately cursing the sapping glow of the sun, then she reversed her sword and slammed it backwards. The meaningless _rip!_ of her coat cried out as the sword caught another lancer deep in his stomach, putting an end to his sneak attack. He remained for a time, hands still clutching the spear that he had planned to drive into this Alexandrian devil's back. Then he seemed to realize he was dead and slumped forwards against his killer. She shrugged him off, pulling her sword away with a grunt.

A rush of hot air swooped past her ear. Beatrix flinched, glared over her shoulder at the Black Mage responsible for the near miss. She hated fire.

Above, astride his Silver Dragon, Kuja was circling the skies. His steed gave a mighty roar, dove to snap up a Cleyran and took off again, disappearing around the other side of the tree. Beatrix grimaced at the way the wizard toyed with his prey, at his reluctance to join battle properly. Killing was just an amusing pastime to him.

She ripped her gaze from the spot where she'd last seen him and continued to the cathedral. Few Cleyrans remained to resist her advance; those that did were easily dispatched. She was reminded of something Steiner had once said in all his holier-than-thou glory: _**'Killing is easy. It's the moment before that will defeat you.'**_

Beatrix didn't want to think about that. She stabbed another enemy.

By the time she arrived, the dusty clearing was swarming with Black Mages and a handful of her own soldiers. The General had an officer report on the situation. She frowned at the mention of a Dragon Knight, the main reason the Alexandrian forces were kept outside the Cleyrans' refuge, and told her to keep the soldiers on standby. Flexing her fingers, she slinked around the side of the building, took a quick peek in a window and crashed through the stained glass, drawing startled cries from Cleyrans, scattering rainbow shards everywhere. In an instant her sword was at a woman's throat. Petrified, she knelt at the mystical harp, eyes huge in her pinched face. _'Pathetic,'_ she thought sadly.

"The jewel," she commanded. The Cleyran, trembling so hard Beatrix half expected her to fall to pieces, obeyed and passed the object over. Never dropping her sword-arm, Beatrix tucked it away.

The trinket felt heavier than ever her sword had.

The people who had fled to the cathedral shrank away from her, most too concerned for their own welfare to protest. With victory sitting safely in the pouch on her sword-belt, Beatrix exited the building, quickening her step when the one who'd handed over the jewel broke out in hopeless sobs.

"Wait!"

She didn't stop.

"Halt, villain!"

Whoever it was, their challenges were futile.

"Running away?"

Her feet seemed to stop of their own accord. She turned and saw the same blasted trio that she'd punished in Cleyra, only this time a Qu was tagging along. Clearly they hadn't taken notes during their last lesson."You're a bigger fool than I imagined…" Lazily, she ran a hand over the end of Save the Queen. "Did you forget how badly I beat you back in Burmecia?"

Freya's mouth was poised in an animal's snarl. "So, you are more the fool for not finishing what you started!" Beatrix saw the Dragoon was dangerously close to that point where she was ready to throw her life away.

The Black Mage and the Qu both added their assertions of victory.

"Then allow me to shatter your delusions of grandeur."

First in the fray again, the Burmecian charged, lance impossibly steady. Beatrix stepped around the all-or-nothing lunge. She made to strike at Freya's back but had to change midway to catch Zidane's dagger. Turning him into Freya's path, inhibiting her from launching another attack, Beatrix kicked at the thief's feet. Scowling, he twisted away in time for Vivi to send a blast of ice at the General.

Trusty Save the Queen slashed Blizzard to shards. Fragments went flying. One nicked her on the cheek, making her hum to herself, somewhat impressed. "Better, but not quite!" she called.

The mage exhaled loudly and sent a harmless lick of Fire Beatrix's way. It didn't even cross half the distance between them. He looked exhausted.

Out of some perverse interest to see how far they had improved, she let their sparring session continue a little longer. Spinning and swirling and slashing, it soon became clear the thief at least had garnered some skill. She checked each strike and fell back steadily, letting him press the attack, watching his frustration build. Just when she was sure he'd reached the bottom of his bag of tricks, something warm and furry curled around her wrist. "How about _this?" _Zidane growled, applying gradual pressure.

Sweat broke out on her brow -- how did he get so _quick?_ With the other hand, Beatrix let go her sword and tried to pry his tail off. Next thing, the Qu was hurtling towards her, licking its lips. Removing the monkey was proving difficult. She took advantage of the Qu's advance, ducking around Zidane then throwing her weight against him, shoving him into the oncoming creature. The three of them went down together, thrashing like things possessed.

Beatrix was sure the Qu sniffed at her hair hungrily. She gave it a gauntleted fist in its slobbering gob, leaving it moaning over broken bones. Zidane went springing away, flailing with his daggers. Despite the close quarters, Save the Queen shielded her from the worst of it.

"No more games," she snapped. Deflecting Freya's stab was easy now -- whether her body was up to scratch or not, the rat's mind was clouded with emotion. Beatrix considered it a favour smashing her over the head with the sword's pommel, knocking her out. That gave Zidane pause enough for her to call Stock Break on him again. Zapped of all but a skerrick of strength, he collapsed in a heap, tail twitching.

Vivi could only look at her with dead eyes.

For some absurd reason, she found herself saying, "Try harder. There is no such thing as luck in this world."

Whether it was her counsel or a renewed sense of purpose, he ran to his friends then. Beatrix turned away from the sight of a child tending war wounds.

"I shall leave with the jewel now," she muttered.

Later, she watched the dregs of her sand-scathed soldiers trudge up the gangplank. Later, she saw the horseman tear open the sky, obliterate the last shreds of defeat. Later, she knelt before a queen whose eyes lit up at the sight of a cold stone.

It wasn't until later, alone in the privacy of her cabin, that she realised those parting words had almost been a request for dismissal.


	10. IX: Oathkeeper

**Chapter IX****  
**_**Oathkeeper**_

* * *

He never thought he'd be able to empathise with prisoners.

Ropes chafed at his wrists. The cage stunk of urine and faeces. His only companions to were criminals and mildew, and neither were particularly good conversationalists. Metal bars pressing persistently into his back where he sat against the cage's wall, he observed all this with a dry wit he hadn't known he possessed. No matter how hard he tried, after hours of ranting and threatening and cursing he could no longer summon the strength for putting on a show he wasn't getting paid for. He'd screamed until his voice turned hoarse, had clutched at the bars with such vigour his hands had started cramping. Forget protesting -- he didn't even have the energy to _think._

Or maybe, he reflected, he just didn't want to. In Lindblum, he'd decided against questioning Queen Brahne's motives. His imprisonment was the key that now permitted these poisonous thoughts to return -- the inkwell had been knocked over and a dark stain was spreading across his once-unblemished parchment. The uncertainty he'd believed he'd rid himself of was starting to seep back, only this time he didn't feel ashamed.

He felt justified and it terrified him.

Another soldier walked by. Steiner had long since discovered it was useless trying to attract their attention. Maybe one of his Pluto Knights would be willing to lend him an ear but whoever was in charge had obviously made a point to keep them away. The Captain wondered if they even knew he was trapped down here.

Opposite him, Marcus was leaning against the wall, for all appearances completely relaxed. His head turned slightly to follow their guard's path. Once she was out of earshot, he spoke out of the corner of his mouth, "Feel up for a breakout?"

Steiner's head snapped up from its inspection of the dirty floor. He gave the thief a wary look.

"Look, I know you're a by-the-books man but you need to get to the Princess, right?"

"I know," Steiner admitted, "I was just wondering how you planned on achieving the impossible."

Marcus grinned crookedly. "I'm a man of many talents," he replied and went about explaining.

Five minutes later, Steiner had an Alexandrian soldier's hand in his grasp, pressure points firmly pressed between his thumb and forefinger. The soldier hissed and dropped her sword, giving Steiner the chance to knock her out of commission. He stared at her crumpled form, realised in a rush that he'd struck a comrade. _'Not now, not now,' _he repeated to himself, mouthing the words silently in time with the thundering of his heart. Claiming her weapon for the meantime, he stepped over the body and climbed the ladder leading out of the dungeon. The bloody thing seemed to go on forever but after that cage, Steiner's muscles were enjoying the workout.

"Where's the armoury?" Marcus panted behind him.

"Not far," Steiner answered, pulling himself over the final rung. He turned to give Marcus a hand up. The thief gave him an incredulous look but accepted his help, leaving Steiner wondering what had provoked such a strange expression.

"Lead the way, Captain," Marcus said.

Knowing their escape would be noticed within minutes gave Steiner courage to move quickly, without stealth. He slipped around a few corners, the castle's layout recalled as easily as he would Garnet's face, and followed a corridor to the weaponry. The guard outside jumped when he saw them but Marcus was quicker. Before long he'd disarmed the man and forced him to fish a ring of keys from his sword-belt and unlock the door.

"Watch him," Marcus grunted, entering the room.

The confusion in Weimar's eyes was unbearable. When he opened his mouth to speak, Steiner took the flat of his borrowed blade to his soldier's head, not daring to spare a backward look. He stepped over the unconscious boy and went to the sword rack, switching the shortsword for a heavier blade. Shimmering dully on the end of the rack, the Blood Sword drew his attention. After a moment's hesitation, he slid it into the scabbard at his side.

Marcus took a few practice swings with his own broadsword. The hilt was chipped and wrapped with worn leather but the blade was in good enough condition to pass for newly synthesised. When he saw Steiner appraising the weapon he said, "Seen me through some tough times, she has. Glad to have her back."

Footsteps sounded from the hall. The pair exchanged glances and, as one, stepped from the room.

"Geez!" A blur of yellow and blue came to a screeching stop inches from Steiner's chest. Bright eyes peered up through a tangled curtain of sweaty hair.

"Zidane!" The name fell out of Steiner's mouth. Freya and Vivi were standing behind him, the one with ears flicking impatiently, the other throwing worried glances everywhere.

"Tell me, is this Alexandria?"

Typical. "I haven't time to explain. I must escape this wretched dungeon of Alexandria!"

Zidane nodded, "Enough said. Which way's the Queen's chamber?"

Briefly, the knight described the route Zidane should follow, ending with, "But why?"

"Queen Brahne's gonna execute Dagger. We've gotta find her before the _Red Rose _arrives."

Steiner might have said, "What!" or "Don't be foolish!" or "The Queen would never do such a thing!" As it was, there were far too many possibilities racing through his head in that one instant for him to pick any one so instead he found himself wordlessly chasing after Zidane, blindly following as he was so accustomed to doing, clinging to the need to reach Garnet. Everything would be fine if he could just get to her and receive an order.

He barely noticed when Marcus dropped off from their party, saying something about Evil Forest and "Bro". Together, the newly formed foursome sneaked past soldiers and made their way into the Queen's private chamber where Zidane's perceptiveness found a secret passageway behind the empty fireplace. As soon as Steiner stuck his head through the hole, that same earthy smell assailed his senses (Vivi's nose crinkled, unimpressed). Analysing the interior, he realised this was a continuation of Gargan Roo. The existence of a direct path to the Royal Chamber and the possibilities for assassination that went with it made him feel sick and inadequate. All those times he'd stood at the bottom of staircase, looking up enviously at the two women of Squad Beatrix who would inevitably be standing guard, oblivious to the fact that an attack could come from within at any moment.

He didn't question whether Zidane was on the right track or not, just followed him down. At the bottom they forced their way by Zorn and Thorn, pitiful creatures hardly worth the effort.

Garnet was there, dead.

Something in him snapped then. Everything up until that point was suddenly brought into focus, a terrible portrait of desperation and disgrace and _futility. _Even as he howled, his emotions expanding deep in his stomach and spilling out in a fit of despair, he felt something else shrinking, becoming an impossibly small speck that would turn to dust at the next careless brush of fingertips.

"She's still alive," someone told him and the world's foundations stopped crumbling.

"Princess?" he ventured between sobs.

Freya waved him over, "Look, she's still breathing."

In a daze, Zidane bent to scoop her up, an expression of immeasurable pain on his face. They made the long, silent ascent back to the Queen's chamber unchallenged. After laying the Princess on the divan with the care one would spare an extremely fragile child, Zidane stepped back, his face a blank canvas. Steiner shot him a quizzical glance, surprised by his reluctance to impose himself when normally he'd use any excuse to touch her. The blonde tried a smile, failed. Fake happiness should not be seen on that face, Steiner decided. It gave him the shivers.

"Zidane…" came Vivi's small voice, "Do you think she'll ever wake up?"

The thief's entire face twitched. Vivi flinched at the reaction; the poor child knew no better. Zidane scrubbed a hand over his face then said, "Of course. She's asleep because she's tired. That's all." He swallowed.

Never had Steiner heard such false hope. Zidane was always upbeat, always prepared to utter an optimistic comment, always ready with gentle encouragement. He didn't make a remark unless his heart was completely invested in it. It was an honest quality that he'd appreciated, Steiner realised with a start. That genuine spirit was truly a rare one.

He ran his gaze over Zidane's back, wondering what he was thinking. "What happened to you? You are not your usual self."

The blonde spun to face him, tail lashing like a windmill's blades caught in a thunderstorm, anger in his eyes. Steiner braced himself. "Go on… Blame my incompetence! Tell me it is my f--"

"No!" Zidane yelled, making Steiner shrink from the untamed fury. A breath, then his entire body slumped like a deflated balloon as a wave of utter despair flooded his features. "I can't…" he whispered, "I…don't know what I feel right now… I can't even shed a tear…"

Steiner's gaze drifted to Garnet. She looked so peaceful, so content… _'You've never lost something important. Is that it, Zidane?'_

Vivi hung his head, shuffling uncertainly. Stoic Freya stood by, face a mystery beneath the wide brim of her hat and the fall of her hair. Steiner was about to step forward and place a hand on the boy's shoulder when a scraping behind him demanded his attention. He looked over his shoulder and froze.

_She _was standing in the doorway.

* * *

Steiner was there. He was there and no one had warned her. Thankfully, his back was turned -- he couldn't have seen the streak of surprise that must have crossed her face. When he heard her approach, lifted his head and looked over his shoulder, his eyes widened and his hand instinctively dropped to his sword. She wondered if the reaction was borne from their rivalry or if he fully intended to run her down. If he was in cohorts with this lot...

"Welcome back, Steiner." She was glad her voice didn't fail.

His hand twitched but did not stray. Beatrix quirked an eyebrow. What game were they playing this time?

She'd show him. This was no time for tests.

In a heartbeat her long sword was out of its scabbard. Thunder Slash took care of Vivi, Stock Break for Freya. Zidane and Steiner were harder, the one agile enough to dance around her strikes, the other well-versed in her fighting style.

Steiner caught her sword with his. "Stand aside, Zidane," he commanded, keeping his eyes fixed on his opponent.

Behind him, Beatrix saw Zidane flush with anger. "Like hell!" He shot towards them, a streak of gold, tail flashing in his wake like his personal war banner.

Never moving her gaze from Steiner's, the General slipped one hand from Save the Queen's hilt and called Holy to her fingertips. Steiner threw himself to the ground as the room exploded in a dazzle of white-blue light, an impossibly bright burst. Beatrix had almost forgotten what it looked like and immediately regretted keeping her eyes open. She blinked to clear her vision, found the dark splotch that was Steiner. He was on his knees, staring disbelievingly, perhaps amazed that for once he hadn't been her target.

Zidane coughed. Touched fingers to lips, pulled them away sticky and warm. His body appeared unbroken apart from dark splotches that were forming beneath the surface where the spell had penetrated the flimsy barrier his skin presented. His face was a mess of emotions. "You…" he choked, utmost loathing contained in that single word, "Any time you… wanted…"

She felt a flicker of guilt. "I warned you." She wished it didn't sound like she was trying to justify herself.

The boy retched, blood and vomit spewing from his mouth, and collapsed.

Steiner lurched off the floor, fury plain in the set of his jaw, the thin line of his mouth. Their swords clashed, the dull noise ringing throughout the confined chamber, echoing a memory. "You picked the wrong person to take out first," he bit.

"Don't be jealous. You'll be joining him shortly." She twisted away, struck again. He parried like it was second nature and returned the favour. Whatever he'd been doing these past months, he certainly had garnered some skill. With her magic power depleted and Steiner knowing her techniques inside out, it was time to be inventive.

The next time he locked his blade with hers, Beatrix let him press close, using her body to hold her weapon steady. His elbow slammed into her side, making her gasp, but before he had time to blink she darted for her mythril shortsword and buried it in a chink in his armour**. **Surprise skittered across his face. His sword fell noisily to the ground.

Breath quickening, he stared contemptuously at the thing as if to say, "I didn't give you permission to appear there." She stepped away. He didn't make a sound, just yanked it out and tossed it to the ground beside his lost broadsword. Eyebrows climbing, Beatrix regarded the weapon he'd discarded like it was a child's toy.

Panting, "A lucky blow."

Sneering, "There's no such thing."

White rings rimmed his too-small pupils as blood continued to pour from his wound. Beatrix's sword hummed as it cleaved the air. A jolt ran up her arm when Save the Queen's path was impeded.

He _caught _her blade.

Steiner tried to smirk but the strain of staying the strike twisted it into a fearsome grimace. Anger mounting as her attack could not swart his one solid fist, Beatrix slid her right hand to the end of her blade, flattened her palm against steel that seemed to thrum, _pushed. _Beads of sweat gleamed on Steiner's brow as his glaive-clad hand grasped the Holy Knight's weapon, trembling with effort. Red leaked down his wrist. His other hand fumbled for the tarnished sword at his side.

He drew the Blood Sword. "Yield."

She was surprised he could still use that arm. "Or?" she gritted, teeth bared to show the gums.

"Or I'll be forced to go back on my promise."

She shook her head once deliberately and threw all her weight into the attack. Steiner's sword began pulsing with dark energy, particles of darkness sinking into it until the metal gleamed black. Faces inches apart, she could see the violent clouds churning in his dark -- _brown_, not black -- eyes.

"Don't," it was a command and a plea.

'_I owe you.'_

"I'll send you to your grave," he said, voice failing on the last word. The sound of that passionate baritone cracking was enough to give Beatrix pause. She stopped pressing the attack and Steiner, mouth a pained grimace, let loose with Darkside. Thrumming flooded her ears. Black waves, moving incomparably fast, lanced forwards like striking snakes. Caught, the General could only tense her muscles, anticipating the impact.

A finger's breadth from her body, the black tendrils suddenly quivered, distorting violently. As if pulled by a magnet, they gradually bent backward and away from her. A thunderous clap roared and dark energy darted forward to collide with a shocked Steiner. A cry tore from his mouth as he collapsed on the floor, black speckles crackling around his silhouette.

Beatrix put up her sword, at a loss. Looking down at his shuddering form, she felt compassion stir in her heart._ 'Even now, he can't bring himself to hate me.' _

Steiner coughed, red spattering the Queen's fur rug. Livid, he wiped the blood off a mouth contorted with rage. "Dammit," he cursed. Then, to Beatrix, "Well? Gloat to your heart's content. I'll not ask for a traitor's mercy."

"Traitor?"

His arms trembled as he tried to push himself off the dirtied ground, sweat running down his face in long smears. It looked like his entire face had been crying. "You…" he forced through gritted teeth, "Striking an Alexandrian soldier is akin to striking Princess Garnet herself."

"It's a sin punishable by death," she agreed, "yet you forwent that privilege upon disobeying Her Majesty. You think declaring your acting at the Princess' behest gives you license to do as you please? You think you can use her name to disobey your Queen, to slay your own countrymen? What makes you so holy, Steiner?" Suddenly angry, Beatrix slammed her sword away. The cross-guard clattered noisily against the scabbard.

Steiner made no reply except to look her in the eye. She turned away from what she saw there. "You saved my life," she said, drained. The next words were hard, "For that, I'll not be the one to kill you, not now." She gave each of the defeated warriors a hard look. "Never step into this land again."

He laughed brokenly. "You'd even deny me a knight's death?" Somehow he got to his knees. Not daring to try the Blood Sword again, his hand found his broadsword, slipping on the hilt. "At least let me die serving my princess!"

Beatrix whirled on him, temper flaring, half afraid she would change her mind. Why couldn't he understand? "That's what I'm doing! Go! Go now, and leave here!"

Steiner stared at her for a long time, searching for a response. He hefted his sword, whether to sheath it or attack, she couldn't say.

"Wait."

She blinked. Zidane stirred. "You're the general of this kingdom. Have you forgotten your sworn duty, your duty to protect Dagger -- Princess Garnet?" He flung out a hand, gesturing behind him, "I'm sure you know who's sitting over there."

Beatrix felt cold. There was a stone in the pit of her stomach, a stone that was pulling her downwards as she forced her feet to lift, to carry her to the truth. Soundless, she stared at the figure stretched on the divan, nestled carefully between two cushions. There was no mistaking those delicate features, the soft waves of midnight hair, the face too sombre even in sleep. Heedless of attack, the knight stepped forward and knelt to place a hand over the girl's forehead. Beneath her sword-roughened fingertips Garnet's skin was too cool, too clammy. "So it was true," she murmured, brushing sweat-streaked hair from the girl's face, "The Queen really did mean to kill her."

_"__What! _No! The Queen would never…" Steiner trailed off.

Beatrix looked at him, understanding the words had come by rote. "It is time for you to accept the truth," she quietly encouraged. Then, raising her voice along with her eyes to meet the gazes of the others, "Citizens of Burmecia, please forgive me."

Freya's voice had a bitter edge as she uttered, "It is too late to seek forgiveness!"

Steiner looked back and forth between the two women, uncertain who he should attend. Beatrix said nothing. There was no way to expound. It was true her debt could never be erased but surely leaving an apology unspoken was worse than attempting to make amends.

Freya turned away. "But you can still save Dagger. I tell you this because I acknowledge your powers. Help your princess."

Beatrix regarded the other's back for a moment, still suspicious of attack. There was no inkling of forgiveness in that rigid stance yet… she had shown honour. However grudgingly, she had shown honour. "I don't know if I can," she heard herself admit and the Burmecian seemed to stiffen in offence. Zidane, Vivi, Steiner, all of them were now looking at the Holy Knight, three wordless pleas on their faces.

"…but I will give it a try," she affirmed. White Magic had never been her strong point but the alternative was to let Garnet die and Beatrix was by no means one for sitting by idly while death claimed people she cared about. Calming her mind to the blank state needed to cast such spells was more difficult than it should have been yet she managed to stem off the tide of emotion for a moment longer.

The first attempt and the light petered out around Garnet's limp form. The bright swirls faded to dark and eventually drifted away like blood being carried away by the rain. The jesters laughed but Zidane's face carried such a hopelessly hopeful look that she could never have stopped then, not even if she'd so desired.

The second attempt. This time was slightly better, enough to make Vivi overcome his caution and take a beseeching step forward but "better" would not do. Her magic was nearly depleted but stalwart, Beatrix ignored Zorn and Thorn, who sounded more certain of victory now and sent a silent prayer to Alexander, loosening her grip on her sword's hilt, relaxing her body into acceptance.

When, on the third, the magic fluttered to life and enveloped Garnet in its warm embrace, a tired Beatrix moved aside and allowed her a reunion with her friends. Steiner seemed too awestruck to approach the Princess himself; the tear tracks tracing unabashedly down his cheeks seemed enough permission for Beatrix to smile, relieved. She couldn't remember the last time she'd smiled simply because she'd wanted to. It was a strange sensation though not entirely unwelcome.

Still, part of her wanted to restrain it

She told herself to stop acting the villain when there was no need for a cold façade. Besides, Steiner was too busy sobbing himself silly to notice anything amiss.

* * *

Eventually, the all-encompassing happiness he'd hoped would remain with him for all his days was eclipsed by the blinding agony in his hand. When he looked down it was like his nerves finally decided to wake up and do their job: the deep cut was enough to give any man pause. The Princess was far too delicate for the healing task. With his good hand, he fished around in his pouch for a potion, sucking in a breath to ward off the effects such movement had and once he'd found one he fumbled a bit with the cap. Freya came to help him, _tsk_ing all the time like a nurse whose professional expertise had been brought into question, doing her best with the diluted liquid, which was inadequate for such a serious wound.

Garnet cast her gaze around, alertness slowly returning. "You're all here…" she sounded as if she'd expected it.

"What is all this ruckus!"

The smile on Zidane's face froze. He spun to face this newest threat, positioning himself in front of Garnet, deft hands plucking his weapons from their sheaths even as Freya and Steiner moved to flank him. Vivi stayed at Garnet's side, patting the back of her hand soothingly with his small, gloved one.

Queen Brahne, swollen to inhuman proportions by her avarice, didn't see the group spread before her. Briskly, she questioned the twins about an eidolon extraction process, something Steiner did not try to make sense of. The only important words were, "Take Garnet and throw her in prison," the words that sealed his concerns, that forced him to confront what he had known for some time but had refused to acknowledge for the sake of fealty. Where did this leave him? At this unavoidable junction, was he to take up arms against the crown, to demolish the structure of his dedication, leaving a skeletal frame where once an unshakeable tower had stood?

"I won't allow that," Beatrix said.

Just like that. Steiner stared at her. _'It takes you a moment to make your decision when I wrestle against myself for years,' _he thought without venom, wishing he possessed that kind of fortitude, that clarity of vision. Thinking had never been his strong suit.

Now, however, it did occur to him to scrub the tears off his face.

Freya's hat tilted towards the Holy Knight in silent appraisal. Steiner imagined he could see a flicker of respect in the look as she changed her hold on her lance and took a step forward, making Zidane lift his eyebrows in question.

Brahne laughed, the ugliest sound he had ever heard, "Oh? Are you defying me as well?" Her amusement made his temper flare.

Beatrix spread her arms. "Your Majesty, it is my duty to protect the Princess. I beg you, reconsider." It was evident from her tone that she did not expect her request to be granted. Still, she did not move for her sword. "All of you," she snapped and it was the General speaking again, "leave here at once!"

"I'm staying!" Freya declared, moving to stand beside her former enemy, "Zidane, go. Now!"

With a snort, Brahne gave a curt command to the jesters and left the room, barely pausing when Garnet called after her. Steiner clenched his teeth when he saw Garnet's vacant eyes, that same dead look Vivi had been wracked by upon discovering his origins and he wished any amount of physical strength on his part could wrench that awful expression away. She was only a child, an abandoned little girl. He coughed, the memory of that other girl pushing to the forefront of his mind and he fancied he could taste the smoke all over again. Vivi was whispering quiet words of comfort that should have sounded ridiculous coming from someone that young but instead, from the way Garnet slowly shook her head clear, served to invigorate her.

"Be careful," Zidane told his friend. Always looking out for others. Steiner's heart lurched. "Come on," the blonde prompted and offered his hand to Garnet. She spared one glance for the two knights, the briefest moment of indecision before determination etched on her features and she accepted his help, letting him pull her to her feet.

The thief smiled, some of his old cheekiness returning, "Let's go!"

Steiner's gaze was heavier, more difficult to remove from Beatrix and Freya, but remove it he did, all the while wondering if he was doing the right thing. He followed Zidane back underground, followed him along the twisted corridors and down cracked steps, followed. He followed and eventually had to stop when he realised he was doing what he'd been doing his entire life, even if this time it was for a good cause.

To turn back…

_Here _was the danger, within these walls, here. Anything beyond these stones, beyond this castle, he could not see yet he trusted Zidane to see Garnet through. Zidane had proven his bravery, often when it wasn't even called for and he was becoming more of a man every day. Vivi's powers were growing under the encouragement and well-wishes of his friends. Even Garnet herself had come a long way since stepping outside her ordinary life and embracing the challenges the world presented. Alone, her devotion hadn't been enough to carry her through but the three of them… The three of them _together_…

They would be fine. He was only hired help, after all.

"Rusty, what're you doing!" Zidane called, his voice bouncing around the enclosed space until it seemed like a thousand people were demanding an answer of him.

If he followed now, he would be doing a good deed. If he went to help the others, he would be doing a good deed also. The only difference was…

"Zidane, I have a request. I want you to escort the Princess out of Alexandria. Please take her to Doctor Tot. He will know what to do."

The difference was…

"Piece of cake. I'm an escape artist."

The difference was…

'_If I go back, I will be doing something good for __**myself.'**_

"Zidane, Master Vivi, I'm counting on you," he said, locking eyes with the pair, willing strength into them. Whatever burden he had carried alone up until a moment ago, he was now sharing with at least two other people and the knowledge made his heart swell in his chest, the feeling of camaraderie inspiring. He offered a salute, about-faced and ran back the way he'd come, throwing over his shoulder a perfunctory, "Princess, I bid you farewell!"

The wind being sucked along the tunnel he turned into seemed to urge him on. It pressed against his body, carrying him to those he'd left to fend for themselves, lightening the bulk of his armour, the weight of his swords. He turned a corner, running flush into Freya's back.

"Oof!" the air departed her lungs in a rush. She whirled, a flurry of fur and dragon's wings and hardly stopped her retaliatory strike. "You! You're lucky I didn't skewer you!" she said.

"Forgive me," he said dryly but she was already onto the next Bandersnatch.

A way down the passage, Beatrix was besting another monster. She didn't need to look at him for Steiner to feel her withering glare. "Steiner! What are you doing here!"

For perhaps the last time, he withdrew his trusty broadsword, inhaling a terse breath at the still-open wound in his hand. How he was going to be of any service like this, he did not know. The important thing was, for better or worse, he was there. "I never knew when to yield either," he told her.

A Bandersnatch slammed into Save the Queen, driving Beatrix backward. "Cute," she snarled at him, somewhat preoccupied.

Grinning despite the situation -- _knowing _she could look after her skin -- he puffed himself up, trying to sound like the Steiner of old, "I am Captain Adelbert Steiner of Alexandria. Grant me the honour of assisting you brave knights."

"Enough with you babble!" Freya hustled him back along the corridor out into an open chamber -- he was getting a definite sense of déjà vu by this stage -- and leaped onto a stony outcrop, ready to play assassin to whatever followed them. "Fight!"

He turned to await the onslaught. Beatrix was sprinting after them, pausing every so often to slash at a monster. "Your hand!" she called.

Steiner looked down. "Oh! Yes, that. A minor inconvenience."

The General rolled her remaining eye. With a casual backhand slice she disposed of another monster and cast Cura on him. The relief was instant; amongst all the battles, both internal and external, he hadn't realised how much trouble it had been giving him. She flipped her hair out of her face while he tested the mended ligaments then ran the remaining distance to stand beside him, joining the pair in the open chamber.

"Good as new," he complimented.

"Better than new, I'll wager," she returned.

"Didn't think you were the wagering type."

"Do you mind!" Freya yelled, tossing a spear towards the first Bandersnatch to escape the tunnel.

He could've sworn Beatrix was smiling as she went to work again. She did not throw herself into the fray. The fray seemed to evolve around her like a pebble would create ripples when thrown in a lake. He'd always known her prowess with the long sword but hadn't had the chance to appreciate it, not when he'd been on the receiving end much of the time. Now, even as he equalled her effort, he found her lifting the bar higher and higher until the both of them were fighting to capacity and, impossibly, then some.

Steiner checked each attack. The next time he turned to face a passageway full of slavering beasts it suddenly struck him that no matter how simple these creatures were, the mind-numbing amount of them was overwhelming.

After that realisation, it didn't take long before they were forced to fall back.

Freya leapt from purchase to purchase, picking off enemies that looked about to breach the other two's defences. He and Beatrix fought together, first one leading then the other, weaving around each other's strikes, making room for one another. He lost count of how many near misses they suffered, how many times he saved her and was saved in return. He wondered who would owe who by the time the night was over or whether Death would claim everything they owned.

They were holding their own for a time against the bloodthirsty brood but then Alexandrian soldiers entered the scene. One woman was approaching Freya from behind and, unthinking, Steiner drove his blade into her flesh. The moment seared into his memory, a fiery brand. He knew, knew then that he'd taken that final, horrible step over the precipice. This was not just some gallant show -- he hadn't pretended otherwise but this solidified the point. A metallic clang sounded at his ear and Beatrix was yelling, "What are you doing? Move!"

Grateful for the order, he yanked his sword from the dying woman. An alarming number of Alexandrians was racing up the spiralling staircase to meet their tiny party. He retreated a step, felt Beatrix's back against his, felt her hair tickling his neck, felt her head turn slightly towards him. She didn't ask why he'd returned, what he was thinking, didn't question his sudden change of heart. Everything was forgotten -- he was there and she knew it, could feel someone with her. He could give her that, at least. All she said was, "I won't die a traitor."

"And I promised."

Beatrix seemed to understand. Wordlessly, she plunged into battle.

The old wound in his shoulder was throbbing again, thrumming in counterpoint to the new one in his other shoulder, the one that had remained untended. He wanted nothing more than to set aside his sword and collapse but he'd promised, dammit, and Beatrix was there, and if he was better than her he couldn't give up first. If he hadn't cried so much earlier, he might have then. Instead, he grinned a feral grin and laughed when his opponent backed up, afraid.

Freya's face was a grim mask of determination as she took the soldier from behind. Blood sprayed over Steiner's breastplate. The Burmecian screamed, "Take hold of your wits!"

'_I can't,' _he wanted to say, _'I can't be sane for this.' _

"Killing is easy," Beatrix said beside him, jerking him back.

'—_**It's the moment before…'**_

He locked swords with another, felt his tenuous grip on reality solidify for every moment they struggled and finally, he pushed her over the edge of the staircase. Another was already on him by then, sword finding some breach in his armour, piercing the skin. He heard a scream, realised it was his own. The ground flew up to meet him. He thought he bit his tongue when his knees jarred against the stone. To his left, Freya was squaring off with four -- eight, ten, his vision blurred -- Alexandrians. It was okay. Beatrix was, was, was. Beatrix was.

There were no heroics. She was dead too.


	11. X: Way to Fall

**Chapter X****  
**_**Way to Fall**_

* * *

The room was unbearably cold.

She cracked her eyes open, blearily rubbing away the grit that had collected in the corners, pushed the heavy blankets back and sat up, a small inkling of unease worrying the outskirts of her mind. The silent room was in the grip of twilight, its contents veiled, rendered as silhouettes against the greying background. The only place where light permeated the growing darkness was the immediate area before the window where the sun's last rays were making a final stand, glittering against the marble floor wherever they struck it, creating the illusion of a receding tide against a beach's golden sands as it shimmered fluidly.

It would be warm there, she thought, discarding the blankets completely, swinging her legs over the bed's edge. Unclothed, her skin glowed unnaturally pale in the half-light and she shivered as gooseflesh rose on her arms instantly, the reaction emphasising her exposure. The brunette did not feel ashamed at her nakedness -- the body she had worn her entire life felt light, unburdened as she took steady steps towards the sun's warmth and her mind was not filled with concern over any lack of weaponry as would normally be the case. The chill from the floor seeped up through the cracked soles of her feet. Picking up her pace, she soon crossed the threshold between light and dark, moving to bathe in the gradually diminishing sunlight, sighing as the heat permeated her skin and wrapped warm fingers around her heart in a tender caress.

A summer breeze curled through the open window, ruffling her hair, pushing the shutters further back to expose the great mechanical metropolis of Lindblum. For a place she remembered to be pulsing with life, it now seemed quiet, peaceful: no aircabs ran amuck throughout the orange-coloured sky, no creatures fast-tracked their way through murmuring crowds, no merchants stood at their shop-fronts crying their goods. Only the gentle breeze and as she took the last steps onto the balcony, a gust swirled up, scattering autumn leaves and snow-white feathers all around her.

The sound the dragon's wings made was heavy and timeless. Its ruby eyes trained on her bare form, it seemed to regard her with a kind of detached compassion like it understood her plight but had seen the same situation over and over and over until only the shadow of true emotion remained. She stood calm before the beast as it opened its great maw in a lazy yawn, unleashing the strongest stench of rotten meat, hinting at suffering and deceit. Unmoved, she was as a stone while it appraised her soul.

Kuja stood on its back, a vacant expression on his face. He moved stiffly, a neglected automaton whose joints were rusted, rigid. His eyes were glass as he offered his hand, making fear pool within her at the silent summons. Unable to hinder her movements, she found herself on the balcony's edge, treading balustrade's thin line with unadorned feet. Her body's actions undermined her instincts -- she reached for his blemish-free hand even while her rational side was begging for a retreat. Unheeding, her arm continued stretching across the sky, her entire drawn towards the ephemeral figure in white as a light fall of rain began tumbling from the clouds above.

Their fingertips almost brushed. Suddenly, the rain became a torrential downpour, sweeping over the balcony, turning it into concrete floodlands. Kuja's mouth opened, a bottomless abyss, but she could hear no sound for the deafening deluge. Her feet slipped and then she was tumbling through endless blue, pelted by cold, unforgiving water drops. The further she plummeted, the hazier the open air became until she could not see, could not _breathe _as the smoke invaded her lungs, stifling her airways. The fire engulfed her. Her skin danced and flickered as the sky rushed by, a whirl of flames that melted her skin as a child's hopeless wailing filled her ears, an eyeless corpse stared at her from within the blaze. Someone asked, "Are you okay?"

* * *

"Beatrix?" The deep voice enveloped her like a welcoming embrace. She sat up shivering. One trembling hand scrubbed at her sleep-fuddled eye. With the slow comprehension borne of a deep sleep, the brunette peered around the room, which smelled of old sweat. Dust tickled her nose when she drew a finger along the bedside table and disturbed a tiny spider from its hidey-hole in a hollow in the wood. It scampered towards the far side of the object, eager to avoid this strange predator disrupting its peaceful little world. Steiner, clad in a black undertunic and pants, was perched on the bed beside hers, looking at her with undisguised concern, his worse-for-wear armour piled sadly on the floor.

'_I must have been out for a while if he's so worried,' _she thought, vaguely annoyed that he'd allowed her the luxury of taking leave from reality. The woolen blanket gathered clumsily around her was coarse and ungentle but she hugged it closer to her frame.

There was only one window in the room -- Freya stood beside it, one long-nailed hand holding back dirty drapes just enough for her head to peek through the gap, observant -- so Beatrix was obliged to ask, "Where are we?"

Freya gave her a quick glance but spared any pleasantries. "Can you not tell from the stench?"

"Treno," Beatrix said automatically, even as Steiner supplied the name. They exchanged a glance. Steiner shrugged and looked away. Something about him was odd. It took her a moment to pinpoint the exact problem but when she did, the brunette's curiosity was such that she had to push aside her fatigue and stutter, "Y-Your sword?"

He flicked a hand towards the door, indicating the weapon slouched nearby against a wall. A careless place to leave a weapon -- any unexpected visitors would be able to smuggle it away or at least bar Steiner from grabbing it. "And the other one?" she persisted, willing to overlook his idiocy this one time, knowing there was little point in chastising him when they were both exhausted to the point where even holding a sword would be a task.

"I… I lost it."

Beatrix blinked. "You _lost _it?" she parroted.

From the stubborn set of his jaw, she wasn't going to get another answer and her body ached such that she couldn't bring herself to challenge his silence. He turned away with a shrug and began picking at the frayed corners of his patchwork bedcovers. From above there came the sound of tramping boots, slowly increasing in volume, prompting Freya to move towards the side of the door in case they need deal with unwelcome visitors. As the footsteps reached crescendo someone outside guffawed.

Freya exhaled and stepped aside to admit their ragtag rescuers.

"Hey there, party. We stocked up on everything this crappy place has to offer so as soon as you lot are on your feet, we can move. Hopefully we'll find us some chocobos and beat the rain -- sky looks like it's gonna piss down. Here's some tincture for those bruises, Freya and a salve for the hole in Rusty's shoulder. Oh, and this potion's for Lady Bea."

Blank, who had been tossing each named item to its intended recipient, stopped his monologue when he noticed Beatrix was awake. He blanched at seeing her smirk, missing the strained light in her eye and managed to explain, "You wouldn't quit rollin' around, muttering into your blankets."

Gratefully, she accepted the potion, the fever subsiding even as the last drops fell down her throat. Regaining her bearings, Beatrix contented herself with watching Freya massaging the ointment into her side, Steiner tugging his tunic over his head to rub salve into his shoulder. Then, glancing at Marcus to include him, she said in a steadier voice, "Thank-you for all your help."

Steiner gave her a funny sidelong look. His eyebrows lowered determinedly and then he too thanked the thieves, though from his expression the task was more painful than being stung by a cactuar.

"No probs," Blank smiled.

From the doorway, Marcus waved a hand, "I hate to break up the make up but we really need to get moving. Brahne's heading to Lindblum. Now I know I'm not gonna get there in time to be of much use but I'd like to see what's happened to our hideout. Got important stuff there an' all. Besides, I'll tell you, I reckon Zidane and the girl are headed that way. So, you knights ready for some action or are we not pretty enough company for you?" He leered, showing a set of yellowed teeth, many of which were missing their neighbours.

"I've been a wanderer for so long. Journeying with Zidane is as close to a home as I have now," Freya shrugged, "I would like to try and protect him."

Marcus nodded, tipped his bandanna-clad head towards the other two. From the corner of her eye she noticed Steiner turning to her questioningly. She noticed in time to stop _herself_ from turning to _him_ for an answer. "Princess Garnet is a resourceful young lady," she said slowly, "and her companions appear worthy. If they are intelligent they should avoid Lindblum. In any case it is as you say: Queen Brahne will have wrought destruction by the time they even see Lindblum cresting the horizon. And yet…" She moved her head and accidentally brushed Steiner's gaze. Sitting on the edge of a rickety flea-strewn bed, one hand flexing emptily, bereft of weapon and honour, he seemed to be considering his position.

Finally, softly, he supplied his opinion: "There's nowhere else to go."

'_He has that much right.__ No-one to guard, no country to serve. No more orders, no more… killing on command. We're both fugitives now. I'd rather be doing something than living out my days inactively.' _

The sense of loss, of being a simple tool in a murderer's game, was worse than when Kuja had revealed Madelene's true nature. Bitterly, Beatrix wondered who the greater failure was: herself for turning a blind eye to Brahne's atrocities for so long or Madelene for turning her coat and selling out her country.

She looked at Steiner then, _really _looked at him as he resumed applying the salve. Without his armour, he seemed another man even though she could never mistake that blunt face or those unelegant hands or his deep brown eyes. Black hair tumbled down to his shoulders as he struggled to dress his wounds, one end of the bandage held firmly in his hand, the other snared between his teeth. She realised this was the first time she had seen his hair.

Perhaps sensing he was on show, he looked up again. This time she did blush, stirred by his insolence. "You're hopeless," she muttered before reaching to snatch the cloth from his mouth, fixing the bandage in place herself. It was too irritating, she thought as she pulled the cloth tight, watching him try and try and try even though he must have known his efforts were futile.

"Thanks," he managed, somewhat easier this time.

Blank cleared his throat. "Well? You guys coming?"

"New clothes are in order first, I think," Beatrix said. She unlaced the coat draped across her shoulders, unbuckled her belt and slid off Save the Queen in its sheath. Wrapping the weapon in her coat, she deposited them at the foot of her bed. "Anyone would know us by our garb."

'_This face is tell-tale__ too but there's little I can do about that,' _she thought, using her fingers to comb her hair across the silvery band.

Steiner grumbled something akin to, "I'm more recognisable by my voice." Beatrix resisted the urge to tell him to keep silent in that case.

Nodding, Marcus said, "I can probably find something for you…" and began rummaging in a trunk stowed beneath his bed. He re-emerged with an armful of garments. "We come here a lot," he explained, an apologetic smile on his face.

Steiner raised an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut. He fished a tent out of the heap, held a corner in each hand and extended his arms, measuring the breadth of the item. "Er, that's one of the Boss' costumes. Probably the only thing in here that'll fit you," Blank said.

It was then Beatrix realised he was holding an oversized shirt, not a tent at all. Steiner seemed to realise too for he emitted a dejected sigh and pulled it over his head, soon adding one of Baku's voluminous jackets, a hideous shade of green, over top.

With a triumphant whoop, Blank chortled, "Here's a great one for you, Lady Bea!"

Beatrix graciously declined the frilly pink corset, selecting one of Ruby's less revealing ensembles instead. She deftly refastened her swordbelt and shrugged on a knee-length coat to conceal the mythril shortsword she still carried. After moving to the doorway to get his own weapon, Steiner also tucked away his sword.

"Ready?" Blank asked.

Steiner cast a forlorn look at his armour, sighed and nodded. Beatrix's eye went to her old general's coat, tattered and blood-spattered, and the weapon hidden within. She knew she had no right to it, Alexandria's national treasure handed down through generations of Holy Knights, especially not after what purpose she'd set it to.

"You could at least return it," Steiner suggested, guessing her thoughts.

"Here's a plainer scabbard," Marcus swapped a worn leather scabbard for the gaudy ruby-encrusted one Save the Queen customarily called home. Beatrix accepted both the item and the advice and once everyone made a final check-over of the room, the thief nodded contently. "All we need now are some chocobos. No good being caught on the mountains in the rain. We'll head for South Gate and down to Lindblum. I know a place where we can switch our birds for some fresh ones too."

"All well and good," Freya spoke up, "but it will be difficult to find suitable chocobos in this disease-ridden city. Then there's the matter of paying the exorbitant asking price."

Beatrix finished lacing her boots, flexed her foot and stood. Her face was stony. "Follow me."

* * *

The towering building's grey face matched Beatrix's countenance as she pulled on the rope at the front door. A loud bell clanged within. Steiner's eyes skimmed the overbearing theatre hunched on the lakefront, affluent nobles scurrying in to attend the next performance. He hardly read the large banner announcing the upcoming card tournament strewn across the building's façade, instead preoccupied with how light he felt without the familiar weight of his armour.

'_My father's armour. He will be displeased. Then again, when is he ever happy?'_

His helmet too had been discarded along with the feathers and his luck. Beatrix had always told him there was no such thing as good fortune, only what you made of yourself. Perhaps she had spoken verily.

And what did he make of himself now? Strip away the helmet and coif, the cuirass and cuisses, and what remained? Flesh and bone and blood and sinew, all of which were useless without ideas. Those sheets of metal had been his identity, had been all he'd needed, all he'd wanted. Casting that all aside and confronting his mortality, Steiner felt he had lost more than the right to serve his country. He had lost himself because he _was_ his country. Orders and salutes, paperwork and princesses, unquestioning loyalty and an unflinching sword-arm. Maybe he had been afraid of thinking for himself not so much because of the responsibility independence of thought entailed but simply because the concept was foreign. He was like a newborn griffin, knowing by instinct he could fly but fearing the fall.

He thought back to that confrontation, to Beatrix's fierce words -- "I won't allow that," -- and he realised even when he'd flown from the nest he'd only really been following his older sibling.

Behind him, the great oak door opened with a pained _creak_. "I'm sorry, the master does not wish to be disturbed," the elderly servant said. Steiner half-expected clouds of dust to rise from that musty livery. The red was dulled to the colour of rust while stitched on his breast, the half-open white rose emblem had faded to a dirty cream. The man who wore them however managed to lend them an air of dignity and age had not thinned his rich voice.

"He will see me," Beatrix said shortly.

The old man cleared his rheumy eyes. He grasped the doorframe with knotted fingers. "Lady Annaleigh?" he ventured.

"Far from it." The brunette's face softened in compassion. "Beatrix."

The fingers tightened with a power that belied their owner's age. His mouth fell open in a silent O of surprise. Quickly, he recovered himself to say, "Lady Beatrix! My, I could have sworn you were your mother's ghost. His Lordship will certainly be gladdened to see you after so many years of the odd cursory letter and birthday wishes."

"Actually, Wallace," she looked abashed, "I was hoping you could lend us some chocobos. I wouldn't want to disturb His Lordship at his cups."

Now the old man straightened, drawing himself up until Steiner realised he topped him by half a head. It was like watching an accordion unfold. "You spend all this time serving your mother's country, always too committed to take leave and visit home and now the only thing that brings you here is a bunch of birds? I'll not hear it." He waved them in, turning his back on the beginnings of Beatrix's protests, "Come! Come!"

The ex-General cast a helpless look at her companions before following the servant, who kept giving her appraising glances over his shoulder. Having nothing better to do and fully expecting the building's interior to be as shabby as the servant's clothing, Steiner stepped through the doorway. He tailed the other two through various cosy rooms, pausing every to appraise a large antique clock, its heavy golden pendulum intricately engraved or a shining piano, lid closed against the waiting world, retaining its secretive melodies. He wanted to drink in this sanctuary, the smell of polish and old grandeur, the extravagant wooden panels decorating the walls and the high plastered ceilings. Quietly, he repented his first assessment of the place.

As they moved towards a grand corridor, Steiner spied a portrait of what he imagined to be the family hanging above entrance. A distinguished gentleman with waxed moustaches was resting gloved hands on the back of a chair occupied by a blonde woman whose lips curled upwards in a calm smile. The chestnut-haired young lady standing beside them had one hand on her hip, the other covering her father's. Her grin seemed mocking in a good-natured kind of way and she carried herself in a way that left no doubt that she'd sooner be seen in pantaloons than a dress.

"I was ten," Beatrix's voice, next to his ear, made him jump, "and my mother was about to go to war. I remember it as one of the rare occasions I saw her in a dress."

Steiner looked at the blonde woman with the serene ice eyes. For a moment, he felt he'd known her. It was possible, he supposed, that they had crossed paths during his cadetship.

Beatrix's voice cut him, "Then she was slain protecting me."

He felt silence was what she wanted. She was observing the painting with slow recognition as if she'd shut away all thoughts of family until this moment. He thought he understood the slow reawakening of blood loyalty.

Wallace ceased busybodying and gestured at the picture, "He was doing well for some time despite Her Ladyship's passing on and your… decision. Even those short letters caused him to thaw over time, them and the tales that drifted here on the wind of the great General's deeds. His anger dwindled until only his fear of losing you as he lost Lady Annaleigh remained. By then Lord Edgar's only fear was jeopardising your well-being by requesting your presence."

"That makes no sense," Beatrix tried to scoff.

"No but love is often irrational. He threw away the drink too when word of your achievements reached him though he mourned in his own way for…" He indicated her eye. "More recently, with war in Burmecia and Cleyra he… Well, as they say, old habits die hard.

"Come along now." Before Beatrix could respond, Wallace began ushering them down the corridor, which terminated in another large door, this one with roses and vines carved into its expanse. The old man rapped his knuckles against the wood, "My Lord? Lady Beatrix has come to see you."

Suddenly feeling out of place, Steiner stated, "We shall wait for you out here."

The woman shook her head. "He will want to make the acquaintance of my companions," she replied, making Steiner wonder if she was uneasy about this meeting.

"Beauford?" this voice was strained.

Marcus coughed. "You sure?" Blank said.

She nodded firmly.

Wallace pressed his face to the crack between the doors and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Beatrix, my lord. Your daughter. She has brought friends."

A dead silence fell behind the door, seeping through the cracks to infect those waiting outside until it seemed all sound had fled from the too-big house. Eventually the lord cleared his throat and raised his voice in an attempt at reclaiming lost power, "Well, for Alexander's sake, man, let her in!"

Wallace pulled open the door and nodded them in. While the thieves hung back flicking glances everywhere like they were discerning escape routes and Freya waited patiently, Steiner, wracked by that unpleasant sensation that ambushed him whenever he had to confront his own father, found himself standing beside his long-time commander. The man behind the desk covered in crinkled papers had the same waxed moustaches as the man in the portrait only now his hair was salt-and-pepper instead of chocolate brown. He pushed aside a half-empty glass of amber liquid and stared, oblivious to everyone but his child.

"I… thought my ears must have been deceiving me," he drank in her battered appearance with his warm brown eyes.

"My lord, I ask leave to request--"

The gaze turned furious. "'My lord'!_ 'My lord'! _I did not wait fifteen years to hear you call me 'my lord'." Abruptly, he grabbed the glass and stowed it in the cabinet behind him, slamming the doors on the liquor. His shoulders shook with emotion as he leaned against the furniture's glass casing, head bowed. Steiner slowly uncurled his fingers from his broadsword's hilt as he saw that remorse had gripped the other man, a remorse that the smell of strong spirits could not entirely cloud. Eventually the lord of the house mastered himself and turned to confront his wayward child. The thunderclouds cleared, leaving him with a downcast expression as he said softly, "_I _ask leave to embrace my daughter, if she will tolerate me."

"My-- Father, nothing would serve me better," she surrendered.

'_That's right,' _Steiner recalled as he watched them engage in stilted conversation like two newborns, _'Family is part of identity. Father needs me, even if only to take the blame for Mother's death. That's a kind of love, isn't it? Thinking of someone constantly, borrowing somebody to assuage one's own guilt… Having someone do what you can't. You have to invest some kind of love there because nothing good ever comes from hate alone.'_

His mother had tried to protect him. As a noblewoman the closest thing to a weapon she'd ever brandished was a set of knitting needles. He could remember her sitting in the ladies' room with his grandmother on cold days, the pair of them working at some garment for him. When the Lindblumese had invaded he'd just started springing into youth, unable to wield a sword adequately despite the lessons his father had lovingly given him, ones that always left them sweaty and laughing.

In truth, it was his mother's generous spirit and not his failings that had resulted in her death. Defending Steiner and his young friends, buying them time to escape the burning house while she begged for their lives. She'd always been proud but she knew when it came time to bend knee. Recalling his family and their timeless love softened his feeling of not belonging to the world he found himself part of now.

There was a time to fight and a time to reconcile, he thought as he watched Beatrix explain their situation to her father. It was discerning between the two that was confusing.

"But of course! There are quite a few in the stables, including that old favourite of yours, the one you had shipped here after they made you general," Lord Edgar was explaining excitedly.

Beatrix's brow furrowed then, "Fluffy!" she exclaimed. "You mean you kept that deranged beast? The only reason I sent it here was because it was an unkindness to leave it with the others, violent bully that it was."

Lord Edgar blinked, surprised. "Yet your soft heart couldn't abide having it done away with? Yes, that sounds like you."

At Beatrix's sharp glare, Steiner quickly turned his laugh into a coughing fit.

"You may be interested to know it's as placid as any well-bred chocobo now," the noble continued, nodding as if congratulating himself on raising a child. His voice then lowered a tone, "I'm sorry you only happened here by necessity but I understand. Please, take as many of the blasted birds as you need and anything else besides. I'm only glad to have seen you." His smile included them all but there was no doubt who his words were aimed at.

"I'm also sorry to have returned under such circumstances." A sudden light passed her face and she added, "But that is of little import. I shall see you at Princess Garnet's coronation."

The words were surprising but the declaration of loyalty was not all unexpected. Steiner and Lord Edgar both balked, the former keeping his counsel long enough to weigh Beatrix's words, the latter shrugging in a manner Steiner had seen many times over. "Then I shall wait until then. Come, the stables haven't moved but I'll show you them nonetheless."

Beatrix laid a hand on his arm, stopping him mid-stride.

"Yes?"

"I…" she shook her head, calming herself, "Nothing, Father. Please lead the way."

Salt-and-pepper hair bobbing in assent, Lord Edgar escorted them to the stables, taking care to comment on this or that item, chatting about family friends or general goings-on in Treno. He spun his tales with the confident dash that all good gentry possessed, honed smart from years of dinner table conversation though there was a frankness beneath the polish that Steiner found refreshing after being flung headlong into political intrigue. So it was that whenever he found Lord Edgar coercing yet another chuckle from him with his velveteen voice, Steiner could not begrudge him. In fact, he was willing to embellish such skillfully wrought tales with the praise they deserved, glad to forget his situation.

Beatrix endured all of this with the long-suffering smile of filial obligation although Steiner fancied he detected a hint of fond regard in her face. Whatever her former misgivings, whatever the funny circumstances, she must have been pleased to see her father.

The low sounds of animals and the smell of clean straw made Steiner attentive again. After beckoning them outside, Lord Edgar now crossed the courtyard and showed them into the stables where a flock of chocobos were penned side by side, glancing up from their feedboxes to chirrup inquisitively at the disturbance.

"The one on the end is your 'deranged beast'," Beatrix's father teased, pointing down the ranks. The brunette flicked Steiner a glance that might have been fearful and stalked to the last pen, ready to confront her old enemy.

"K-Kweh!" went the chocobo before bowing his head and inviting Beatrix to scratch behind his ears. Cautiously, she obliged him.

Her father beamed. "Didn't I tell you? Mild as a kitten. All the appropriate equipment is over on that wall," the noble gestured with a hand, "and I'll get Wallace to bring you some saddlebags too. If there is anything else you need, I won't withhold it. Anything, Beatrix."

Beatrix went still. After a moment of quiet contemplation, she looked over her shoulder and gave her father a grateful smile that conveyed a wealth of words and dispelled the last shreds of tension surrounding them. Perhaps sensing nothing more was needed, Lord Edgar gave a satisfied bow, a few quick farewells to the others and the parting words, "I shall see you all at the coronation." He hovered at the doorway momentarily then shook his head, a fond smile on his face, and left.

"Well," Marcus said, leading a chocobo from its pen, "Saddle up."

The prompt command was just what the still-sore group needed to spur them to action. Moments later they were geared up, food-filled saddlebags slung over their mounts' flanks, making their way towards the city's exit. Steiner felt his spirits lift -- the simple act of moving made him feel as if he'd resumed some control over his life.

One step outside Treno's gates and the skies opened.

Rain fell down in great streaks, saturating their clothing within moments, making it hang heavily from their frames. An hour at best and the plains would be boggy and difficult to cross. Part of him refused to believe the rain would choose this exact moment to begin. Steiner's entire face drooped in dismay. His high spirits evaporated as the rain poured down. "This isn't funny," he muttered.

Staring out at the sodden mountainside, hair plastered to her scalp, Beatrix dolefully replied, "I'd worry for your sense of humour if you thought it so."

And like a firecracker, the rage that had been lurking beneath his emptiness sprung forth and the Captain burst out with, "Dammit! Even the gods piss on us!" Shaking his fist at the heavens, puffed up with fury, he didn't doubt he looked every bit a Berserked gigan toad.

Beatrix's body began quaking. It took him a while to realise she was laughing, genuinely laughing, something he could not recall hearing her indulge in for many years. Uselessly, he squelched backwards into the mud, content to wait out the storm on his derriér while Beatrix laughed until she wept and a horror-struck Freya regarded them both with the wary eye one might spare a rabid dog.

"If you two are done…" the lancer's long legs began carrying her easily across the soft ground. Her chocobo ruffled its feathers indignantly, spraying the ex-Captain with more water, sending Beatrix into further peals of laughter at his unimpressed expression.

Despite the humiliation, it was hard to keep his face straight. Understanding the absurdity of the situation -- knowing that laughter was one of the few things left to them -- he obliged her with a quirk of his lips. "Yes, I'm quite a sight. Glad someone finds amusement in my misfortune."

Beatrix wiped away her tears and extended a hand to Steiner. "Come, good sir, before the gods decide to loosen their bowels too."

This time, Steiner took it.

* * *

Menacing as they had appeared, the thunderclouds soon began fading on the horizon, leading Freya to (mournfully) proclaim "that spat of water" done with. She alone had relished the brief shower. It must have been nice, Steiner thought, to have some piece of home unexpectedly appear to lend you comfort, a thought he continued muse on home throughout the rest of the day. Journeying proved uneventful between an encounter with Mistspawn or two. Occasionally, one of the chocobos would be possessed by the desire to rush off and dig in a seemingly random spot. Once, Blank's bird recovered an ether. The other flights of fancy yielded nothing but because the chocobos proved impossible to stop, the party suffered to watch each excavation with a sense of dulled anticipation.

They made their way through the battered skeleton of South Gate where the tall guard warned them against travelling in such times. "Treasure waits for no man," Marcus said, grinning toothily as he stroked his chocobo's wing. The guard grunted disapproval but waved them on their way, muttering about bands of fools while his shorter companion shook his head sadly.

So the days passed in relative monotony. In fact, aside from some stupid creature scaring them out of their wits by leaping from the bushes screaming, "Pop quiz!" nothing particularly remarkable occurred.

Right now, the sun was gradually dipping beneath the ocean as they rode up to a secluded forest somewhere between South Gate and Lindblum. Given how chancy catching an airship would have been with Brahne's fleet patrolling Lindblum's skies chocobo travel was definitely the way to go, even if it meant extra journey-time. His cramped muscles and numb behind were glad to get off the darn bird. As soon as his feet touched ground, Steiner felt an oppressive cloud fall over the group, that same one that had smothered them back at Treno's inn. The mindless travelling at an end for the day, they were now forced to recognise one another's company again.

Blank sprung from his steed, landing easily to survey the rising forest. The faint keening of chocobos drifted from a far stand of trees along with the sound of running water. Steiner breathed in the green freshness and clear air, absorbing the tranquil atmosphere, the lack of metal, propellers and grinding gears, the isolation almost tangible. After unclipping his saddlebag and turning his chocobo to its own devices, he announced, "I'm going to make a round of our campsite."

Marcus, deftly working alongside Blank to erect a tent, carelessly dismissed him with a flick of his wrist. Those two were the only ones completely comfortable in each other's presence, it seemed. Steiner found himself drawn to the two women fixing their tent albeit with nowhere near the familiarity that the thieves worked. The Alexandrian and Burmecian studiously avoided one another's eyes, hardly communicating unless necessary and when a pole came unstuck, collapsing the entire structure, Beatrix cursed fiercely.

Steiner found himself caught between his countrywoman who had been his rival for over a decade and the proud Burmecian whose camaraderie had proved key to his sanity during his time in Zidane's company. "Actually," he said, careful to keep his gaze casual, "my eyesight is likely not so sharp. Someone else would be fitter for the task. I can put these muscles to good use and pitch that tent instead."

Beatrix looked at him for a second. With whiplash force she then bunched up the rope she'd been trying to uncoil and stalked past him, pushing the tangled mess into his hands.

'_Well, that was unsuccessful,' _he thought ruefully. He chanced a look at her retreating form, back stiff, an angry note in her gait then glanced down at the hopelessly knotted rope he was holding. _'Very unsuccessful.'_

"You must excuse her," he said to Freya, not entirely sure why he was covering for the other woman, "She's not normally…"

Freya righted the fallen pole. "Defensive? In a way I cannot blame her, not for her reaction just now or her previous deeds -- my bitterness would be misdirected. I've lived so long pursuing phantom emotions it's becoming easier to recognise when I'm making mistakes. Here, hold this, will you?" She squatted to tie off a rope.

Steiner did as she bade. "You no longer hate her?"

From beneath the brim of her hat, that curtain of long silvery bangs could not hide the bright green eyes flicked briefly to his face in acknowledgement. The Burmecian gave a humourless chuckle. "I'm not so good as all that… but I know what it's like, having no hope of atoning for past mistakes yet being compelled to try." She straightened. This time the force of her piercing eyes hit Steiner head on. He forgot he had the pole in his hands as she told him, "Beatrix is searching for absolution. Blank and Marcus, well, whatever they say, they are looking to bring their family together. What are you here for, Steiner?"

"I…" he found he couldn't break eye contact, "I don't know." The honest words burned his ears.

"A vagrant life is no life for someone like you. Finding Princess Garnet seems like a logical step to me."

Steiner sighed, "That _is _what I planned but even with that goal, part of me feels lost. A great part. You must understand."

The lancer finished tying the last knots. She gave him a soft smile, "I failed my purpose as a knight. You were discarded for fulfilling it. Which is the worse, I wonder."

All at once, Steiner's face flooded with shame. Freya had lost two countries yet she still wore the tall hat of Burmecia's Dragon Knights and carried the long spear with pride. Every scrap of that identity, every reminder of her failings must have weighed her down yet she bore them gladly. How hard it must be for her to listen to him grumble and gripe!

"Now, I'm going to find some firewood. I'll send that difficult comrade of yours back if I can find her."

Steiner smiled gratefully… and winced as a squawking Fluffy careened into the freshly-erected tent, promptly dismantling it in his excited quest for some undoubtedly useless trinket.

* * *

Dragonflies danced in the warm air that night, their crystalline wings scattering the red glow of the campfire, which, despite the weather, was stoked high to keep monsters at bay. Steiner watched the harmless insects twist and turn, long legs stretched out against the cool grass -- the blades caressed his ankles, a sensation he'd almost forgotten after years imprisoned in metal. He should have been on-guard for Mistspawn but much of that rigidity of duty had vanished when he'd discarded the armour, the mask of his identity. He was coming to see knighthood as a mere shell for his true self, whatever that was.

Fabric rustled. The grass whispered as Beatrix joined him.

Content to observe the dragonflies tracing sparkling paths through the night sky, Steiner gave her the silence she needed. He fancied he could hear her collecting thoughts. After a moment, she said, "I have apologised to Lady Freya. Or tried to. She didn't have much to say."

Steiner hmm-ed approval, now watching her watching the roaring flames. One insect flew too close and was consumed in a puff of dust. He felt an involuntary shiver work its way up his spine until his teeth chattered and the apology he now expected came:

"For whatever it's worth, I _am_ sorry."

"It's okay," he said because that was what one said in such circumstances.

She pressed, "Not just for before, for Cleyra and Burmecia and, and everything. I've been selfish, arrogant, all the things I hate in King -- _Kuja_ -- I've been all that and worse. By enlisting I was supposed to avoid him, to avenge my mother. I've done neither. I've done nothing worthwhile but unleash havoc on peaceful cities and why? Because I lacked the courage to confront reality."

He opened his mouth to correct her but she cut off the ponderous train of thought. "Of late, my thoughts have been… unknightly."

Steiner didn't have to ask what she meant; he'd been wrestling with the same serpents since they'd been dragged from the bowels of Alexandria on Blank and Marcus' backs. Many times over he had considered relinquishing his knighthood but there was always some last tug on his heartstrings that inhibited him from tossing it away. And suddenly, as happens only once or twice at dramatic highpoints in one's life, Steiner found an answer:

"Of late, I've learned that what you do is of more import than what you think."

She didn't say anything but slowly, _slowly_ some of the crinkles at the corners of her eyes faded, the worry lines roughening her forehead lost depth, the fingers clenching at a tattered shirtsleeve slackened their grip. She looked as close to peaceful as he'd ever seen. A flash of joy plucked at his heart -- he had actually managed something _profound_ and had thrown off some of their demons for the moment. Certainly he felt as confused as ever but focusing on that answer gave him a measure of clarity. Beatrix too, if that foreign, slight upturn of the lips was anything to go by. He decided he liked being able to provide answers for someone, being the person others relied on for guidance instead of bumbling his way through order after order.

"So, you were born in Treno?" he eventually spilled.

She didn't seem to mind the inquisition. "Born into Treno nobility. We summered in Alexandria, my mother's birthplace. That handful of months each year was practically the only time I could see her, military woman and all. They were happy times. I was free to roam Alexandria's streets and join in games with the other children, something that was simply out of the question in Treno."

"I always thought you were Alexandrian."

"With this colour hair? There are anomalies, I suppose. I think of myself as Alexandrian anyway."

He turned to face her. "Oh… of course. I didn't mean…"

"I know you didn't. I do like asserting myself though."

She had given up a bit of herself after so many years. Steiner felt compelled to return the favour. "My father was also a knight, my mother, a light-hearted noblewoman. She perished in a house fire."

Shivering, Beatrix nodded. He appreciated that she didn't offer empty condolences. He also noticed the sombre weight that was accumulating in the air and wondered how he could dispel it. Eventually, he arrived at, "So… Sorry for everything, are you?" letting a teasing note into the words.

She blinked, surprised at his sudden bantering tone. He ruefully wondered if a little too much of Zidane's personality had rubbed off. Catching his drift, she returned, "Well, not _everything_. You deserved those oglops."

He cringed exaggeratedly at the memory. "And the arrow in my forehead, did I deserve that too?"

"Well," she shrugged, falling back on the grass to gaze heavenward. Her too-big coat fanned out around her. With a small quirk of her lips, she conceded, "Well, perhaps I went a little overboard."

The civilian clothes made her look so much more fragile. It unnerved him a little. He stood, dusting his pants off as he said, "At least the healthy competition kept our wits sharp."

"It was often _unhealthy _competition. Remember the petrify pudding?"

"Hm. You are never going to let me live my youth down, are you?"

"It's so far behind you and I haven't yet, so likely, no."

A small voice drifted from one of the tents: "Would you guys take it to the bushes or a moonlit lake or something?"

The pair exchanged sheepish looks. Steiner quickly muttered a goodnight and pulled aside a tent flap quietly so as not to disturb Freya. "Where are you going?" Beatrix said.

While the superfluousness of this comment was not lost on Steiner, he contented himself with a smirk and returned, "Your watch," before ducking inside for some much-needed sleep.

Other nights did not work as smoothly. Throughout one particular day's course when they turned their chocobos loose for the evening, Fluffy must have caught a whiff of treasure for he dashed off through the shrubbery only to return hours later, sans saddlebags. The sudden loss of equipment, namely a tent, put Steiner in rather an awkward position:

"There simply isn't enough room for two in there…" he floundered, trying to ignore Freya's victorious yell as she won yet another hand of cards against Marcus, trying to block out the snickering thief behind him. Honestly, if Blank didn't shut his trap soon, Steiner was going to grab that headband of his and gag him.

Beatrix waved off his complaints with one hand and sifted disinterestedly through her saddlebag with the other. "Don't be ridiculous. Lady Freya and yourself have been indulging in this sort of rustic accommodation for how long? She's been through worse anyway, sharing a tent with a monkey and that long-tongued monstrosity." She yanked yet another packet of food from the bag's depths and glanced at the label. "Salted sahagin _again?" _ A disgusted noise and the thing went sailing over her shoulder towards Blank, who deftly swiped it from the air.

"That's different. She's…" A comrade? A demi-human? Not you? For the life of him, he couldn't think how to end the sentence.

"Not interested?" Blank offered. Steiner snarled.

"More sahagin! For the love of Alexander!"

"Beatrix, you can't be serious. It goes against my sense of decency," he all but begged. What he really wanted to say was, _I know you apologised and everything and you're probably not likely to poison me while I'm out to it but sleeping anywhere within a ten foot radius of you still kind of creeps me the hell out._

The brunette unzipped the last unchecked compartment, a hopeful look on her face. When this also yielded more sahagin meat she threw her hands up in the air and whirled on Steiner, interrupting a fresh wave of protests, "Honestly, what's so bad about sleeping with me?"

"…"

"…"

"…"

Marcus poked his head out of the tent he and Freya were occupying. "What did I miss?"

"Lady Bea doesn't like the meat that's on offer and Sir Loudmouth's getting worked up about it."

"_Aren't you supposed to be on guard duty!" _Steiner raged.

Blank tore off a chunk of the sahagin jerky, letting it dangle from his mouth as he pulled an unseemly expression before darting out of Steiner's reach. Marcus snickered then returned to his card game.

"Honestly!" both Alexandrians sighed, Steiner glaring after Blank, Beatrix glaring at her pile of jerky. They blinked and glanced at each other.

"Look," Beatrix said, "I think you're acting terribly childish -- and, I might add, your distrust of me is quite insulting -- but interrupting Freya's fun is the last thing on my agenda. I'm a little beyond making your life miserable at present. If it will make you feel more at ease though, perhaps I should just sleep out here," the last was gently mocking.

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"Precisely. Get in the tent, Steiner."

He spent the rest of that night curled up in the corner, trying his very best to make his considerable bulk small and unobtrusive, feeling as out of place as some hideous piece of furniture from last century. He wasn't entirely sure _why _he still felt so edgy around her -- despite what she thought, he took her word very seriously and believed if she'd apologised she intended to uphold some decorum -- but then he didn't exactly feel the urge to analyse his emotions either. After all, his world had already gone topsy-turvy once that week.

* * *

The Lindblumese guards at the Serpent Gate were a more aggressive breed than the ones at South Gate. As they'd left the marshlands earlier that morning, Steiner had pointed out the thick smoke clouds lurking over the city in the distance, an ominous precursor to destruction that made his skin tingle for his armour. It hardly came as a shock that these lancers now chose to seize first, ask questions later.

The Alexandrian soldiers and their messy entrails strewn along the ground made him shudder. One of them had blood bubbling at her mouth as her eyes rolled wildly in their sockets, groaning helplessly.

"Where are you lot from, eh?" the Lindblumese commander asked roughly, tightening his hold on Steiner's arm. The Alexandrian tolerated the grip but he couldn't keep the superior sneer off his face, some of his old knightly pride flaring at the contact. As they dispossessed him of his sword, it was hard to meekly keep still. There was a sharp, dangerous aura in the air. Another soldier drove the point of his lance into the dying Alexandrian woman's leg, making her scream.

Bloodlust. He recognised the berserk craze of battle. This Lindblumese officer had led some radicals on a sortie to reclaim the Serpent Gate, Steiner guessed but with so few men he couldn't possibly hold it for more than an hour or two. The suicidal tactic had probably caught the unprepared Alexandrians, who must have thought the day won, unawares. He knew he had to tread carefully here.

While the rest of the guardsmen accosted the other humans, they treated Freya more carefully, waiting for her to lay aside her openly-carried weapon before grabbing her arms. Her nose twitched with disdain but she affected a smile as she replied, "We come to lend our spears to your regent, should he want them."

"We live here," Marcus said. Despite the casual air his profession led him to practice, to those who knew him Marcus seemed unsurprisingly uncomfortable in the hands of the law. He followed the commander's pointed gaze and offered a smile of his own, "Well, obviously not her. She's Burmecian."

Another guard began patting Beatrix down. Steiner saw her swallow.

"I fled my hometown after it became apparent my fight was futile. I had hoped to seek refuge here. I was willing to enlist too… that is, if you don't discriminate against my kind," Freya took up the tale, injecting just the right hint of indignation to sound convincing.

Leering, the guard curled his arms around Beatrix to undo her swordbelt. She stiffened at the contact. Her gaze brushed Steiner's then darted away.

"I see chivalry has gone out of fashion," Steiner bit.

The guard on his left jerked his arm downwards, sending such a lance of pain into his shoulder joint that Steiner felt the bone must spring from its socket. "Say that again."

He took a deep breath but was cut off by a sudden cry: "What the--? Hey!"

Most of the group spun to see what had caught this particular guard's attention save Steiner, who didn't need to make such a useless effort, and Beatrix. The commander snatched her by the tips of her hair, yanked her head back, stared at the sweat-strewn face. "You!" he spat and backhanded her, sending her sprawling to the ground.

"Hey!"

"Leave her!"

"Stop!"

Furiously, the commander flung the leather scabbard at Beatrix's prone form. The rubies set in Save the Queen's hilt shimmered darkly, blood red.

Lurching against his restrainers, Steiner said, "We bring news of Princess Garnet! Regent Cid will want to know." He couldn't believe she wasn't moving for her sword.

"Princess Garnet," the commander sneered, "left this morning. She left after days of healing people in the streets, people _this woman_," -- kick -- "tried to kill."

"She wasn't involved. On my honour as a Dragon Knight, I swear it."

The man holding Freya shook his head fiercely. "Your 'honour' means nothing. You rats were planning to invade Alexandria. I know, I heard!"

Freya's mouth fell agape. "How can you still believe that trash!" Blank yelled.

The commander yelled in Blank's face, "Silence! Throw them in prison. My stomach is turning at the sight of this filth."

Beatrix got another boot in her stomach; she gasped but only shifted to bring her knees to her chest, trying to shield herself from further attacks. The laughing guardsmen pelted her with more blows then, wearying of their sport, roughly took hold of her. A brutal punch to the face snapped her head around, made her friends cry out again. With mounting horror, Steiner realised there was no way she could escape the brand of her nationality -- the truth was marked too well on her face.

"Holy Knight indeed!" the commander hissed.

The guard torturing the other woman now pressed a boot against her kneecap. Whimpering helplessly, she gasped, "Ge-- General... Beatrix...!"

A large globule of blood flew from Beatrix's mouth to land on the commander's lapels. He stared at her for a moment and smiled kindly. Then whipped a dagger from his belt, bent over her and sent it plunging towards her eye. Crying out, she recoiled. The weapon stopped millimetres from her eyeball.

At the same time, the guardsman plunged his weapon into the nearly-dead Alexandrian's throat.

Steiner exhaled even as the commander smirked, spat in her face, laid into her once again. After some decent blows he stood back and addressed his men, "I said take these animals away."

The guards jerked her to her feet, twisting her arms at terrible angles behind her back as they marched her to the trolleys leading into Lindblum proper. He shoulders slumped. He could hardly comprehend what had just occurred. The walls seemed to be leaning towards him, boxing him in as he was sat in the trolley and taken to a holding cell where he was shoved to the cold floor and told to stay put and stay quiet. His vision flickered out for a brief moment.

Regardless of the order, his ragged breathing was loud in the darkness. After some minutes of consciously willing his body to calm down, he stood, grimacing at the scuffs along his legs, wishing he still had his armour. A quick glance around his cell -- cot, bedpan, Marcus again -- then he went to the bars. His square head couldn't even fit through the tiny gaps. "Beatrix?" he called. The name loudly ricocheted off the dank walls.

"Oh, hush. I'm right next to you," came the immediate reply, one cell over.

The familiar rebuff made him sigh, relieved. "What were you thinking!" he whisper-bellowed.

She made a coughing noise, spat again. "At first I was doing a good job at being cooperative for Garnet's sake. Somewhere along the line, that all just faded away. It was like… I don't know. I remembered what you said that time, about actions speaking louder than thoughts--"

He hit his head against the metal bars, "How did I know this would be my fault?"

"--and decided I'd rather take a beating as General Beatrix, not some cringing puppy. I didn't really salvage my pride though." She gave a rueful chuckle.

"And?"

"Well, the thoughts after that were a little like, 'Oh, that one hurt. Ouch, right in the kidney'."

From another cell, Blank guffawed. "The upsides of fame, eh?"

Steiner tried to keep the smile from his voice as he deadpanned, "Funny. Remind me to never let you near thieves again. Their bad wit is clearly infectious."

A bright light suddenly shone down the end of the cell-lined corridor. Steiner strained to see the warden, accompanied by some soldiers, approach, keys jangling at his hips. He stopped in front of the Alexandrian's cell and squinted at him, considering. "Yer comin' with me," he announced.

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Well, that was quick."

"Remember the junction we reached before we changed tracks? Lindblum Castle is directly above there. That officer probably sprinted to tell His Excellency all about… us."

"And we have an intercom system," a guard offered.

Steiner and Marcus exchanged glances. Their cell door swung open. The Lindblumese stepped aside to give them room while the warden move along the corridor to release the others. As they came into sight, Blank grinned, Freya tilted her head and Beatrix batted the hair away from her face, which was darkened in annoyance.

"His Excellency wants to speak to you."

* * *

Oglops, he decided, were scary. Fidgeting beneath the flat-eyed stare, Beatrix looked ready to flee. Not for the first time, he recalled exactly _how _Beatrix had been appointed general and what she'd done to deserve such a boon.

"As always, Master Steiner, Lindblum welcomes you at her hearth. And you, General Beatrix. My country will not soon forget your deeds."

Well, _that _was as close to an invitation as she could expect here, he supposed. Beatrix inclined her head respectfully, swallowing whatever issues she had with her prior treatment.

Squatting on his throne, Regent Cid said, "I apologise for the rough welcome. Some of my men decided to form a sortie and try to retake the gate without my consent. By the time I heard what was happening, it was too late. I'm sorry you got caught in the middle of that."

"War is never kind," Beatrix offered neutrally while Steiner's blood seethed.

"I have reconfigured the trolley tracks leading to the palace since then. Anyone who has similar ideas will have a long walk ahead of them."

Steiner stepped forward. "Your Excellency, may I ask what has become of Princess Garnet?"

Cid's eyes blinked quickly, sending an involuntary shiver along Steiner's spine. "I'm afraid you just missed Garnet. She left with Zidane and Vivi this morning."

"Where are they headed?" Freya queried, leaning against her spear, tail curled possessively around the shaft. Steiner found his hand resting on the pommel of his broadsword, relieved to have its familiar weight beside him. By contrast, Beatrix looked naked without Save the Queen. He thought it was a cruel decision -- returning everyone else's weapons while she watched had added an extra sting to the insult -- but considering her position, Steiner supposed it couldn't be helped. Regent Cid had at least extended the courtesy of an apology.

Cid's vocal sac inflated and he let out a long, miserable gwok. "I'm afraid I have no idea. They were searching for a way onto the Outer Continent to end Kuja's madness. Whether they've made it or not…"

Steiner cast Beatrix a dispirited look.

"…but knowing what you are like, Captain Steiner, Garnet left you a message. She implores you to stay here and give what aid you can in her stead, as a representative of Alexandria." Cid glanced at Beatrix, "You may stay as you wish, General, though I feel compelled to warn you that my people may not take too kindly to your presence."

She nodded noncommittally. As the conversation turned to other subjects, "Think of it as a working holiday with the added bonus of getting stoned every time you step outside," Blank told her in undertones.

A few minutes later, the meeting was called to an end. The group was ushered from the throne room, given directions to the guestrooms -- servants were difficult to spare as most were out repairing this or rebuilding that -- and left to their own devices.

"We're off to our place. Catch you around, I guess," Marcus said. "Later," came from Blank and the pair were out the door before the others could even muster a goodbye. Steiner found himself smiling wryly at their feigned disinterest, wondering when he would bump into them again. If he rejoined with Zidane (and he had no doubt he would) he knew he would cross paths with the other members of Tantalus again. Blank paused at the doorway, glanced over his shoulder and added, "Look after yourselves, hey."

Marcus grunted and tugged the younger man away.

Freya removed her hat to run long fingers through her tangled hair. She let out a sigh. "It appears Zidane has eluded me once again. I think I'll recuperate here for a few days, perhaps make my way back to Burmecia. They'll need help rebuilding there too."

Steiner nodded then turned to Beatrix. "Well?"

"Well. I don't doubt the entire continent would love nothing more than to see me swinging from the gallows so it's mostly the same from my view. Back to following orders?"

He shook his head, "It was a request."

"Who would have thought." She smiled softly. "...I think I can live with that."

* * *

- Eesh, I'm still alive. Chapter title taken from a song by Starsailor of the same name. Go have a listen; it fits.


	12. XI: Find Your Way

_The house is mouldering stone by stone,  
The garden-walks are overgrown;  
The flowers are low, the weeds are high,  
The fountain-stream is choked and dry,  
The dial-stone with moss is green,  
Where'er the Rose of May is seen. _

-- from **ROSE OF MAY** by Mary Howitt (1799 - 1888)

* * *

**Chapter XI  
**

**_Find Your Way_**

* * *

Squinting against the blinding late-afternoon sun, Beatrix tipped her head back to gaze up at the figure teetering precariously atop the ladder. Nothing more than a black blob against the bright blue sky, from the way he was waving that hammer around Steiner looked dangerously close to losing his grip. Her own grip tightened against the bottom rung as she called, "Mind your footing," not liking the way her words drifted up into oblivion.

The ladder vibrated. He yelled, "I'm fine."

She _tsked_, not at all convinced. Sweat trickled down her back, sticking the shirt to her skin, gathering between her fingers. They had been helping with repairs since arriving and it seemed they'd brought an unreasoning heatwave with them, one that tried its best to beat down the people's spirits. So far, optimism was dominating the city -- even the occupying Alexandrian soldiers lent a hand mending the ruin they had caused.

Beatrix wasn't accustomed to perpetual heat. Agitated, she scratched at the bandage over her face -- with the streets patrolled by the soldiers she'd once commanded, the eyepatch had been the first thing to go -- and shifted her hold on the wood. "Then why are you shaking?"

"It's windy up here!"

Grimacing, she muttered, "And I'm the general of Alexandria."

"Stop _moving!" _Steiner bellowed from somewhere above her.

Marcus turned into the street carrying what appeared to be a freshly carved door on which balanced a set of mugs. Behind him, propping up the tail end of the door with his head, Blank reached up and grabbed a drink, taking a deep draught. He smacked his lips and called, "Hey hey, Bea. Brought you a present."

"How kind." Gratefully, she let go the ladder and reached for a cup. Upon peering into it: "Coffee. I should have known."

Cinna jumped from his perch midway up the scaffolding and rushed for the brew. Beatrix had learned to expect the manic glint shining in his eyes whenever coffee appeared, prompting her to pass over the cup and get another one for herself. His enthusiasm impressed her. "What's that about coffee?" the thief probed.

"Bea prefers tea," Blank sang, huffing as he dropped his end of the door and helped Marcus ease it against a nearby wall. It hadn't taken more than a few days of poking around Lindblum's burned-out buildings, lending help with clearing what rubble they could, before the knights had bumped into Tantalus again. Combining their efforts had seemed natural; even Steiner had only grumbled a little.

"Lame, Bro." Marcus untied his bandanna, cleaning the sweat off his face with the tattered rag. "Besides, I reckon Bea's not too picky."

Beatrix still had slow reaction time when it came to the nickname. Adopting it had seemed like a logical idea at the time, as had borrowing some milkflower to chew on. The plant had the altogether unique property of being able to lighten one's hair colour. It was strange, waking up every morning to see blonde Bea staring back at her from the mirror, looking entirely like her mother but a little discomfort, a few superficial changes, were necessary to avoid detection. Funnily enough, the missing eye had been the easiest thing to remedy. By disguising the old scar as a recently-acquired war wound, people generally avoided questions though the linen itched and chafed her face.

"Heads up," Cinna quipped. They all turned to watch Steiner bumble his way down the ladder, almost slipping on the last rung in his haste. "Ah!" he exhaled appreciatively, "Nothing like kaffa coffee to quench one's thirst after a hard day aloft."

"Agreed, bud, agreed… but hey, let me use the hammer next time, okay?"

Beatrix let herself lean against an upturned barrel, blowing gently over the steaming mug. The bitter aroma made her tastebuds grimace and in the heat she would have preferred a cooler beverage but she was thirsty enough to endure the stuff. She looked at Marcus, "What's next on the agenda?"

He grunted, replacing his headgear. "Well, this just about takes care of this house. Once they get the windows sorted we'll come back and install them. After the door we're done for the day unless Bert hasn't managed to patch up that hole in the roof."

Mild outrage seemed to be Steiner's default expression nowadays. Beatrix still had no clue how he managed such a combination. "Of course it's finished. I've been working on it all day." Irritably, he pushed back a shirtsleeve that had begun creeping down his forearm. The white material had disregarded his efforts at cleanliness: nondescript stains had worked into the fabric as the day had worn on.

"We," Cinna said pointedly.

Steiner frowned, kneading his shoulder with the flat of his hand then admitted, "Yes, my mistake. You have been of great assistance, Master Cinna." Their shared fondness for coffee had somehow weakened the class barrier.

"Cinna's fine," the thief said for the umpteenth time.

Bracing her nerves, Beatrix gulped down the brew, depositing the empty mug beside her with a soft _thud_. "So the next building?"

Blank laughed. "Woah, woah, woah! Seriously, Bea. The work'll still be there in the morning."

"I know, I know," flattening palms against the barrel, she lifted herself up and shuffled onto the makeshift seat, which creaked beneath her weight. The urge to help these people was close to irrepressible; the ex-General felt better when she was pitching in, when she was mending something instead of tearing it apart. The way Tantalus accepted her -- not exactly as one of their own but as a human being -- only fuelled her need to make up for the damage Alexandria had caused. She had felt so helpless throughout the last few months of Brahne's reign, bound by her oath, that now inaction was her newest devil. Even taking a five minute breather was having an adverse effect, making her tense enough to feel the perspiration sliding down her body's contours rather than calming her off-beat heart.

Steiner seemed to sense her discord. His eyes peered at her over the top of his mug as he exhaled a cooling breath, stopping every so often to flick away the dark hair dangling in his face. He told her, "We can't do more than we're already doing."

She appreciated the inclusive "we" but the words offered little solace. Hard work was one of two things from which Beatrix could derive comfort, the other -- surprisingly -- being the lack of a sword at her side. For more than a decade she'd been reaching for that longsword when she wakened every day just as someone may reach for their spectacles but being without it, knowing it was safe in Lindblum Castle's treasury, brought relief. She was deferring her darker self until she was ready to reaccept it, however long that would take.

Carrying that thing around would have been suicidal anyway.

A detachment of Alexandrian knights strolled down the avenue. The leader held up a hand, stopping the others' patrol route and approached the recovering group. She glanced at the almost-good-as-new building. One wouldn't have suspected less than two months prior, the city had been leveled under the intense gravity of Atomos' fury. "Do you guys need a hand with that door?"

There were less knights littering the streets nowadays. Freya, who often lent them aid, had once explained that no sooner had the Alexandrians arrived than they had bundled up provisions and set out for sea, pursuing more Eidolons. She also informed them that Princess Garnet and her companions were in turn pursuing an arms dealer named Kuja, knowledge Regent Cid had imparted during one of his meetings with the Burmecian. Beatrix tried not to think too hard about what her Princess was doing, running around on another continent, chasing after a dangerous warlock. Garnet had asked her to stay here. Beatrix respected that. Besides, now that he had her tied to Lindblum, the Regent seemed intent on making her stay put, at least until she made amends for some of the damage she had caused.

The other possible explanation for her sudden willingness to abandon herself to fate was less tasteful: was it simply easier to fall into this role, to wield the same tired excuses every day? Every morning she would awaken and imagine breaking free of Lindbulm and the everyday monotonous sound of hammers nailing buildings together. Every morning she would tremble and decide not today.

"No, thank-you," Beatrix answered. The constant presence of her country's occupying force had initially worried her but after a few days, glimpsing an Alexandrian war banner here or a round shield with the winged sword motif there became commonplace. Past encounters had taught her that none of those women recognised her with her blonde hair, bandages and civilian clothing. More often than not they tended to look askew at Steiner instead and then only if he bothered to open his mouth. Anyone who glanced at him twice was eventually diverted by his shaggy black mane.

Marcus chimed in on the tail-end of her comment, "Actually, we're about to call it a day. Thanks for taking care of that door." He pushed his untouched drink into the puzzled leader's hands and began walking away. His companions had little choice but to follow.

Stepping quickly until she was directly behind him, Beatrix tried to control her annoyance as she spoke over his shoulder, "What was that all about?"

Marcus turned a corner, leading them down a street primarily lined with eateries. It was the specials board outside the Doom Pub that made him pause after a full five minutes of meandering, not Beatrix's words. "You need to relax," he said offhandedly, perusing the list of commonplace dishes, broad nose giving an eager sniff. Alexandria had struck so quickly that there had been no need to disrupt Lindblum's imports so delicacies were still readily available. At least the people could write starvation off their list of worries.

She began speaking but the words evaporated when a hand fell on her shoulder. Steiner gave a barely perceptible shake of his head then indicated the pub with a flick of his eyes, an almost imperceptible tilt of his head. The small, homely establishment was frequented by engineers in the area though it had a tendency to attract a variety of people come nightfall.

Marcus' eyebrow disappeared beneath his bandanna and he raised his chin at Beatrix, daring her to voice a rebuttal. When the challenge passed unaccepted he turned back to the building and strolled towards the counter to place an order. Blank and Cinna followed suit, weaving past patrons though the former wasn't making much effort to avoid brushing any barmaids in his path. One directed a coy smile Blank's way; he winked before shifting away.

"Look," Steiner removed his hand and pointed towards the far corner of the room where two Burmecians sat at table, sharing drinks. The telltale peak of one's hat, set aside next to a jug, informed them of one's identity. Before she could stop him, Steiner was striding towards the demi-rat, hailing her heartily. Uncertain, she ghosted at the threshold while the clanking of dishes, friendly chatter and warm smells swirled around her enticingly. When Steiner turned and waved her over with the big, exaggerated gestures that only he could get away with, her stomach sank.

She approached the trio anyway. The male Burmecian scooted along the bench to make room for Steiner, bunching himself close to the stone wall. Freya glanced at the woman who had trampled her kingdom and called her pathetic and all she did was coolly remark, "Care to join us?"

Her tone was nothing more than civil but the words… Beatrix couldn't remember the last time someone had extended such an invite.

The man across from her leaned over the table, offering his clawed hand. "I'm Dan. Nice to meet you, Bea."

She nodded, tuning out Steiner's business-like exchange with a serving girl -- he was either adept at ignoring those fluttering eyelashes and tongue tracing an unblemished bottom lip or he missed it entirely -- before giving Freya a sidelong look. It was easier to shoot her half-glances. Beatrix was afraid of the accusation she might find in the Burmecian's eyes. "I see you're still in town," she said politely.

The knight ran a finger along the fraying brim of her hat, giving Beatrix the impression the vibrant red material had faded to pink a very long time ago. "I planned to leave earlier this month but after bumping into Dan, he told me there was little point. My people are scattered. Many of them live here now. He's looking into organizing everyone and leading an assembled team back home."

"Admirable," the faux-blonde commented, accepting the drink the barmaid passed over.

Dan turned down the compliment, "Anyone else would do the same. I'm actually waiting until my kids are a little older before making the journey back but they're impatient little critters. Haven't even been to Burmecia and they already miss it." He tilted his head and his nose gave an inquisitive twitch, "So, where're you guys from?"

"Treno," Steiner said just as Beatrix answered, "Alexandria."

Freya stared into her mug. An uncertain smile creeped over Dan's long face. Hot as it was, Beatrix suddenly felt she had been thrust into the heart of an Esto Gaza winter. Quickly, she amended, "We were in Treno a few days ago but Alexandria is our hometown. Or was. We haven't been back for a while." She wished Steiner hadn't forced her into such mistruths. Even telling a harmless lie to a Burmecian stung.

The grin became genuine with an edge of relief. "That explains it. I thought you must've been. You know, the hair, the accent. I went there once, me and my wife though we were just friends back then. We liked it." He gave a brief shrug and tail flick.

Steiner resolutely downed the rest of his drink and hailed the serving girl again. Beatrix was inclined to agree as absently, she tugged at the bandages irritating her face, observing the quickly-filling establishment. It wasn't long before her gaze began drifting towards the pub's front where the wide windows displayed the busy street, the sinking sun tinting the half-finished buildings a warm orange hue as workers ended for the day and set off on a quest to unwind. Many were filtering into the Doom Pub now, heightening the sense of excitement rising in the air, that aura that Beatrix couldn't quite surrender to. She felt antsy, guilty for not continuing the restoration. Seeing the workers quitting did little to quell her restless heart.

She heard Freya say, "The same for her too."

She shrugged, nodded at the other woman. Drinking was as much a part of army culture as fighting though she normally passed up the opportunity, citing her father drank enough for both of them. This however was Freya. Alexander knew her motives but Beatrix could hardly refuse the offer.

Dan leaned into the wall, nursing his cup in one hand. "You two travelling on your own?"

"Oh no, we're with them," Beatrix indicated the trio of thieves. Marcus, perched on a barstool, hunched over a plate of stew like some overgrown carrion bird. Cinna, who appeared to be complaining about the establishment's lack of decent coffee. Blank, chatting up a tiny dark-headed girl. His left hand kept brushing her hip, occasionally snaking around her middle. "Not exactly by our choosing," she added sheepishly.

"Hard to get some alone time, eh?"

"No. I mean, ye-- no, that's not," she retorted, perhaps too forceful in her haste to cover the lengthening silence. Steiner's eyes were laughing at her from over the worn tabletop. She felt herself flush, told herself it was the insistent heat, that she didn't care however much he mocked.

Smirking, the Burmecian went on, "Sorry, I just assumed. Even if nothing's happened, all it takes is time. Trust me on that one. It's how I ended up married."

Beatrix scowled. "I can assure you matters between Bert and I are not…" A band struck up in the opposite corner, saving her from having to think too hard about the rest of that sentence.

As Steiner began outright laughing, Freya pushed Beatrix's drink towards her, a small and commiserating smile on her face. For someone who had shied at the mere thought of sharing living arrangements with her, Steiner was coping with Dan's accusations remarkably well. In fact, his entire posture seemed far too relaxed, from the hands sprawled lazily on the table to the slightly wonky smile on his lips. Suspicions piqued, Beatrix felt her frown deepen in disapproval as she glanced from her mug to Steiner's. "Exactly how much have you had?" she asked.

"Two," he promptly returned, "One for you, one for me."

Freya supplied the answer to the mystery: "He's drinking gyshal liquor."

Beatrix buried her head in her hands.

* * *

An hour later the pub was roaring with music and clinking cutlery as people danced between furniture, grabbing passing serving girls, giving them a whirl before releasing them, laughing, to their duties. Those patrons who were elsewise occupied with food, drink or each other still managed to stomp their feet beneath their seats, making the entire room rattle with the mass-rhythm. Marcus had cleared a table and was dealing poker hands, expertly flicking them to each competitor while bright-eyed spectators gathered around, sharing sly glances whenever someone raised the stakes, meeting each substantial win with a loud roar. Much to Marcus' chagrin, Freya's hat at this stage had accumulated a rather neat pile of gil, the Burmecian's stony façade, impossible to read, spurring her to victory.

On the opposite side of the room, Beatrix had discovered why the tabletops were so scuffed. Somewhere along the line, Blank had adopted one as a makeshift stage and started dancing what appeared to be a Burmecian jig, one hand on his hip, the other flapping in the air like a rooster's crest. The surrounding crowd clapped on beat while he quick-stepped to a fiddle's runaway tune, pausing only to accept another mug Cinna passed up to him. Off-target, Blank mistakenly wrapped his fingers around the other thief's arm, pulling both the mug and his friend onto the table. A fresh wave of laughter rippled through the building as Cinna, dangling in the air, attempted to worm out of the larger man's grasp.

The ex-General still felt a little guilty and a little out of place but she couldn't deny the amusement factor such a scene provided. Coupled with alcohol though, a month's supply of tension was slowly abandoning residence in her body.

A flurry of fur and fabric, Dan shouted in her direction, "C'mon, get up!" Sweat shone on the hair around his face; as more people poured into the pub the temperature, along with the patrons' penchant for dance, only increased.

Beatrix declined the offer with a smile. The Burmecian's brows crinkled in confusion then, peering behind her, a knowing smile took over his face before the writhing mass swallowed him in a burst of colour and noise, leaving only the tips of his furry ears visible. Casting a look over her shoulder, she perceived the source of Dan's laughter.

Balancing two rather large steins, mouth downturned in a severe expression of concentration, her old rival was evading windmilling arms and legs, each dodge setting him further and further off-balance until finally he deposited the objects in front of her, sloshing liquid onto her hands. He muttered an apology before toppling into the opposite chair. "Is the entire Business District in here?" the once-Captain moaned as he immediately reclaimed a mug, tilting his head back, taking a swig. His words were, by this stage, taking on a ponderous slur.

Sparing the other drink a wary look, Beatrix said, "I hope you don't expect me to down that repulsive concoction." The place was incredibly hot but gyshal liquor was far from her refreshment of choice -- even coffee was better. Moments earlier, Freya's fruity cider had been the more palatable drink Beatrix had ingested that day.

Understanding kindled in Steiner's blank eyes; he was taking his time processing every syllable she dropped. "I'd much like it if you did," he said, moving aside his peacebound broadsword lying between them, pushing the drink across the table until the rough grain of a wooden handle pressed against her damp hands. Part of her didn't want to encourage him, memories of her father's decline playing stark in her mind, while the rest was alternately amused at his antics and sympathetic towards his yearning to relax. In any case, after what they had been through she felt ridiculous calling him up for unknightly behaviour.

She was no longer his commanding officer either.

Beatrix heaved a long-suffering sigh, shook her head and said, "Fine." The liquid burned a path down her throat and left a salty aftertaste that made her scrunch up her face and swallow a gag. "Happy?"

He was studying her, the muscles of his face were tight and his lips crumpled in a heavy frown. Abruptly, he declared, "You're a funny blonde."

She quirked her eyebrow, startled at the conviction in his rumbling voice and looked at the sticky tabletop where the staff had neglected a spillage. Stealing a glance at his face, "You look rather odd with hair," she found herself admitting, trying to memorize the man beneath the armour, comparing him with his former self.

"While we're discussing oddities… and forgive me but this has been bothering me for the longest time… do you even have a family name?"

That one made Beatrix guffaw, one sharp bark of laughter. "I disposed of my father's name long ago. I never took a new one. It was always, 'Beatrix of Alexandria', as if there were no other Beatrixes in town," she paused, assessed his level of intoxication and realised with a start that she could probably ask him anything without any repercussions. Something behind her ribcage twitched. She reminded herself that they had made their peace by the campfire, had acknowledged years of mutual hatred and in the process, had come to understand that those feelings were no longer in place.

Beatrix wondered when she had stopped despising his quick-to-anger, tactless nature and started admiring his dedication to the throne, a loyalty stronger than steel. She wondered when he had started looking at her differently. His heart was in the right place, even if the rest of him often wasn't.

Wearing the mantle of Holy Knight, she had committed atrocities. That was poor excuse for continuing to do wrong. Beatrix shook her head. _'I will not take advantage of this situation to assuage my own curiosities. Bert is a friend.' _

"You are an excellent knight," he told her and she was surprised to hear the fondness in his voice, a warmth that surely could not be explained by alcohol alone.

For some reason, it was easy to accept the compliment. She feigned an indifferent snort and went to take another swallow but his hand stayed her, catching her at the elbow in a firm grip. "A toast," he announced, "First, a toast."

When he failed to add anything more, "To what exactly?" she queried.

"To… To… To something profound." His eyelids fluttered in a rapid blink as if he was trying to find the meaning in his words. "To something symbolic."

He was still pathetic when it came to words but Beatrix found herself warming to this new Steiner -- Bert. Why was it so easy to let him set aside his worries when she couldn't even give herself permission to do likewise? Couldn't she afford a few hours of mindless bliss rather than simply going through the motions, acting a part like she had her entire life? Sadness welled in her companion's eyes when she failed to raise her mug and meet his enthusiasm. His alcohol-flushed face fell.

It wasn't fair of him, demanding she haul herself out of despondence… but hang it all, it wasn't fair of _her _to ruin his evening. She'd been disappointing too many people lately.

Beatrix forced a smile, lifted her gaze and her mug, met his toast. "To something symbolic," she repeated and when he recovered his smile, her own became a little easier to hold, the drink a little easier to stomach even if it clouded her mind.

Sighing, setting aside his cup, he said, "You're not yourself."

"On the contrary, I am more myself than ever," she pressed a hand to her head, "That is the problem."

He laughed. Laughed! "Nothing wrong with you, Beatrix, not when you're not trying to kill me."

Ignoring the deep-rooted instinct that was suggesting she arch up and deliver an icy, cruel response was an easy task now. A cocky grin slipped onto her face instead. "If I had ever actually tried, you wouldn't be sitting here right now. I was always that much better."

"Fair lady, you wound me."

"That's what you get for leaving off your armour."

They exchanged a smile as the bantering slowly faded. Eventually, both their gazes landed on the peacebound broadsword sitting between them and after a moment's contemplation, Steiner broke the silence with, "I didn't really lose it, you know."

His voice was so quiet it was nearly lost within the jovial din so she had to lean forward to hear. "Hm?"

Her companion spread his hands, a gesture of supplication as a slightly guilty look crossed his visage. "The Blood Sword."

Curiosity aroused, she asked, "What happened to it?"

"When we were in Treno… when you were under fever… I got so mad. I took it outside and flung it into the lake," with a victorious grin, he wobbled to his feet and mimed the actions, almost beheading his mug in the process. Overbalancing, he quickly regained his seat, scratching the back of his neck as he chuckled in a suddenly self-conscious manner. "That thing brought me nothing but bad luck. Had to lose it."

"It was just a sword," Beatrix offered. She imagined him looking at her feverish form, cursing himself for striking her then hating himself for feeling guilty. She imagined his emotions culminating until he couldn't separate them any longer, until he was driven to unleash his feelings…

Steiner shook his head vehemently, "Not just a sword. Whenever I struck someone with it, it felt like I was draining their energy."

"Well, that _is _the point of attacking a foe."

"You don't understand. Every time I landed a blow I would feel more alive, like I was stealing their life for myself."

Beatrix took another swig as she pondered this.

"Not only that," Steiner continued, "It wouldn't obey me."

She blinked. A numb sensation settled in her stomach as she asked him to explain.

Steiner's eyes flinched from her face but he forced himself to continue, "Back in the Queen's chamber when I tried to attack you, Darkside failed me. Beatrix, I've mastered that technique, I know I have. That blade was evil."

Beatrix turned away, unable to tell him why, in her opinion, he had failed so miserably then. Regardless of how she teased, the fact remained that he _was _a brilliant swordsman, one who would not appreciate hearing his sentimentality had interfered with his duty. The numbness shimmered, became butterflies and scattered as his secret, kind regard warmed her.

The blonde looked back towards her tipsy friend, "Good fortune that you're rid of it now." By this stage, the establishment was slowly losing patronage as people decided a soft pillow and warm blankets were the order of the night. She glanced out the window, taking in the darkened street and said, "But enough of this. I think it's long past our bedtime."

"Probably," he replied, lurching to his feet in response, his childish compliance a testament to his alcohol consumption. He had to grab the table to steady himself before attempting the difficult task of placing one foot before the other.

Beatrix laughed quietly albeit not unkindly beneath her breath, privately praying he would not collapse. There was no way known she could drag his bulk all the way back to Lindblum Castle. With the broad side of his hand, he gave both his cheeks a hearty slap or two then held his hand out to her. She took it, if only to humour him, and concentrated on getting them to the castle. Recalling the route became a chore when her train of thought was consistently derailed by Steiner's running commentary: "On your feet then, Beatrix. I shall save the serving girl the trouble and return our mugs. Mind the step as you leave. Oh, look at that moon, so yellow and round! Do you suppose it has jaundice?"

The return trip took twice as long as it should have -- Beatrix had resolved to walk her companion around the lamp-lit streets until his head cleared a little or at least until his words ran dry. Initially the babble was entertaining but sleepiness quickly set in, wrapping itself 'round her head, turning his nonsense into nothing more than a comforting background hum. They made circuits of the Business District, following the same path over and over like a pair of clockwork tin soldiers, waiting for their gears to stop turning, trying to unwind. Her mind, previously a tightly-wound spool of thread, was completely unraveled under the gently glowing moon; her thoughts flew as gifts to the stars and she sighed peacefully. His sentences became less and less run-on until they quietly faded, embraced by the balmy night and their yawns. It was there that Beatrix thought she might be able to accept that yes, she had a capacity for evil deeds but she also could do great good. She had to forgive herself before anybody else could. The process still seemed arduous but for the first time Beatrix believed she might achieve it.

It was only when they finally arrived at their room, Steiner nearly falling through the doorway, that he spoke again.

"Does it still hurt?"

She knew, of course, what he meant. The bold words, not the query itself, made her start. One look at him was enough to remind her he was still slightly intoxicated; she felt she could continue indulging him. At least tonight no harm would be done. "Not at all. It hurt like hell when it happened but the aftermath was worse."

"I'm sure it was," he struggled to find the edge of the bed and lower himself carefully down. As if he had fallen victim to a Slow spell, he sluggishly pushed messy locks out of his eyes and blinked. "Wait, what?"

The scar tissue beneath her calloused fingertips was cold and rough. She traced the bumps of the old injury, reminiscing, no longer ashamed of the war wound. For a while she had turned her face whenever somebody glanced her way, viewing the ugly mark as proof she wasn't good enough. She had doubted her own ability to protect Princess Garnet. Over time she'd realised it was proof of her skill, for she had suffered a grievous wound yet was still alive. Vanity hadn't played a part in her initial discomfort. She had never been a typical doe-eyed girl, pinning all her hopes on a pretty face and the rich husband she would attract. Her father, she suspected, would have been dismayed at the scar though. She could picture him drinking himself into oblivion at the news.

Beatrix thought these things and told Steiner what she could. "After I lost my eye, the first time I went to hold my sword I ended up groping thin air. Everything was askew; I was always misjudging distances. Thought you must've gone and rebuilt the castle while I wasn't looking because I kept bumping into things on my blind side. When I wasn't sure I could continue as a knight, when I doubted my own abilities, when I believed I would return to Treno an invalid before eighteen, those were the hardest days." Misliking that train of thought, she shook her head and instead considered him, "Though I suppose tomorrow morning might be harder. For you, at least."

He missed the dig entirely, flinging himself back on the bed, his exhalation enveloped by the quiet room. Moonlight streaming in from the tall windows paled his skin, made his features appear waxen, lent a bluish tinge to his dark hair. "When are we going home?" he murmured.

That disarmed her in a way his sword never could.

"We've been here for weeks," his voice continued meandering, "The Princess needs us, and Doctor Tot and the guards and the staff. I hope that cat hasn't broken into the kitchens again. There'll be saffron cream everywhere." His eyes stared vacantly heavenward.

She turned her gaze towards the window and began scrutinising the nightscape. He knew they could not return. Not now, perhaps not ever. The buildings, angular boxes stacked cheek by jowl, were straining skyward, struggling to break free of the last scraps of rubble still lying unattended. They reminded Beatrix of coffins. What had moments ago seemed soothing now raised goosepimples on her skin. She shuddered, rubbing her arms to drive away the sudden chill.

To be accurate, it was coming up on two months since they had first arrived in Lindblum. In that short time remarkable progress had been made regarding the restoration. Much of the Business District was up and running again and the citizens even seemed tolerant of the Alexandrians. It was amazing, she thought, what a person could become accustomed to when given adequate time.

Smiling at the ceiling, he said, "I'm glad you're okay."

Her expression faded to fondness as she copied him, lying back onto her own bed, arms tucked behind her groggy head. The stifling heat had disappeared now; the city no longer seemed so terrible. A cool zephyr began tickling through the open windows, carrying all thought away.

"I'm glad I am too."

* * *

"Beatrix! For the love of the Sword, Beatrix, wake up!"

Said woman groaned, rolled over, blinked. Sunbeams were skittering over her cheeks, playfully demanding she face the day, stray tangles of hair lying over her face. Peering down at that face upturned to the warmth flooding in through windows wide-open to greet the day, Steiner reached for the bandage she'd tossed on her nightstand before drifting off.

"You're disturbingly chipper today," she voiced, eye cracking open. He took a step back, giving her room to breathe and tossed the strip of linen into her lap. There was a time when she would have viewed his actions as arrogant and disdainful. Now she simply accepted the small gesture of goodwill sans animosity, he noticed, pleased.

He replied with, "Beatrix, the news is all over town! My decision is made. We must hurry to the docks, now!" His muscles were practically twitching with delight, prepped for action. He hadn't felt so energetic in weeks.

Beatrix shot up, such a look of purest surprise on her features that he had to laugh. "Your what?" she asked, baffled by this sudden turn of decisiveness. She followed shoving back the bedcovers with throwing her feet, boots and all, over the side of the bed. The faux-blonde grimaced at the presence of footwear and quickly checked to make certain the bedsheets didn't carry any muddy stains. "What was I thinking?" she lamented upon discovering a dirty streak.

Steiner scratched his neck, "Er, I'll take the blame for that."

Her head snapped up so sharply he feared she would tear some ligaments, "What?"

"I gave you the drinks," he explained, wringing his hands in front of him apologetically, "My fault you were so tired you just collapsed when we got back here. What did you thi-- oh." He felt his cheeks heat at the thought.

Running a palm over her face, she pointedly returned to her initial line of questioning, "What decision have you reached?"

He blinked sheepishly, banishing some interesting early morning thoughts. "Well, I… I'm going home." Just like that. Exhilaration coursed through his body at the newness of the words.

Beatrix looked at him for a long time, thoughts a mystery. Under scrutiny, he felt his old insecurities bubbling up. Quickly, he smothered those feelings. He was his own man now. This was his choice to make.

He needed nobody's permission. He knew that, but…

"You are sure?" she said.

He didn't need permission but approval would have been nice.

He drew himself up to his full height, puffing out his chest as he declared, "Yes!" He was so overwhelmed by his own enthusiasm he almost saluted but quickly changed the gesture and scratched his neck instead, feeling a little silly under her cool gaze.

A cloud passed over his comrade's face and her eyebrows drew together as she frowned, deep in thought. _'Is it so hard to say you'll accompany me?' _he wondered as his stomach began knotting itself in a sudden influx of anxiety. _'As far as I'm concerned, the past is the past. You have proved yourself a worthy companion and, I will admit, earned my respect. I would rather set out on this journey with a friend by my side.'_

Beatrix lifted her head. "We cannot return or have you forgotten we are traitors?" There was no fire in her voice, only dusty acceptance.

"But Her Highness…" he trailed off upon noticing the blank face she was making then gasped, mentally backpedalling. "Of course! You haven't heard!" He laughed at himself, deprecating, thinking how typical it was of him, getting sidetracked by her questions.

She gave him a look that said, "I've almost lost all hope in you," a look that feared for his sanity. He had seen it so many times before that it made him roar with laughter all the fiercer. By the time he had his mirth controlled, Beatrix was halfway through her efficiently-fast breakfast, not the least interested in the source of his joy. He figured that too was characteristic of the cold patience and no-nonsense façade she'd cultivated over the years. Or maybe, he snickered, her reticence was simply the product of an aching head courtesy of the previous night's antics. She did seem to wince ever-so-slightly whenever he raised his voice.

At the risk of losing whatever credibility he had left, he managed to tone down and tell her the news that was racing through the city streets, that people all over Lindblum were waking up to hear:

"Our Princess is back."

The crunching sound of the egg she had been dispossessing of its shell ceased at once and she swivelled in her chair, mouth agape. "What?" was the question, the only word that served as an anchor for the visibly stunned woman. The jump of a muscle in her jaw, the sudden rigidity of her posture, it all bespoke of wild emotions rippling underneath the surface and he wondered how he had always found her so difficult to read in the past. He gave a reassuring smile as if to promise he wasn't having her on, trying to put aside the rumbling demands of his own stomach, which was stirring thanks to the smells of freshly buttered toast and plump, juicy fruits. Beatrix took a deep breath, clearing her thoughts and asking, "Where is Her Highness?"

"En route to Alexandria. An escape pod drifted into Lindblumese waters in the early hours of the morning. When it docked, a detachment of Alexandrian soldiers staggered out, pleading to see the Regent with their urgent tidings. Their battered appearance must have roused the dock guards, Alexandrian and Lindblumese alike. Word was sent and Regent Cid agreed to a meeting."

Beatrix nodded impatiently. Steiner looked away, focused on the eggcup perched too close to the table's end. "As I hear, that weapons dealer betrayed Her Majesty, unleashing an Eidolon on our navy. Princess Garnet had pursued him to a far reach of the Outer Continent in an attempt to subdue his threat but no sooner did she arrive then the battle was joined by the Queen and…"

"Am I to understand our entire naval fleet was decimated by that wizard…?" Beatrix shook her head, slow and mournful, and lifted her gaze to his, seeking confirmation in his eyes.

"Naught could be done," the consolation he tried for turned out awkward.

She exhaled loudly as if the force could expel her sadness, running a hand through her hair as she processed everything. Eventually, "You are taking this admirably," she noted, no hint of accusation in her tone for which he was grateful.

"I think…" he struggled, "I think my heart knew this would not end well for Her Majesty. The dungeons opened my eyes. I saw she wasn't herself any longer."

A moment passed, a few heartbeats in time when Beatrix stood there pondering not the words, it seemed, but Steiner himself. Wondering at the change in him? Weighing up the concerns evoked by a Guardian of the Blood who was not blinded into confusing fealty with servitude? Whatever decision she arrived at, in the end she only pursed her lips and let her face take on a determined cast. "We better start packing then," were her simple words.

An unrestrained grin overtook his features. "Thank Alexander!" he exclaimed, not caring that once again he was wearing his heart on his shirtsleeve, "I have already bundled together a few provisions but I still require armour. It wouldn't feel right, returning home without it."

"So you intend to continue your service?" she asked. She stood, carefully tucked the chair under the table and fiddled with her breakfast dishes, watching his reaction from the corner of her eye.

Steiner knew she must have wondered whether he would keep on. He nodded affirmation, hoping his decisiveness would drive all doubt from her mind. With a, "Huh," she turned away, blonde curls bobbing, making him tilt his head. "Did you think otherwise?" He couldn't help the question.

Facing him directly, a raw honesty in her eyes as if she wanted to convey more than words would permit, the once-General spread her hands and replied, "It's not that."

He cocked a brow. The last few weeks, he supposed, had given her ample time to reflect on her own actions. If she was ready to discuss her war crimes -- he winced at the turn of phrase -- he should lend an ear. Between ruthless slaying and words that were cold as a hunter, sometimes it was easy to forget the great General Beatrix, Holy Knight of the Waterfall City, breathed and bled and felt like any other human. Recent events had driven her to lower her guard, to occasionally discard her polite, detached mask and express her inner thoughts. After what they had been through, it only seemed right to confide in one another. For all the tragedy surrounding them, they understood each other a bit better.

It was a little sad that it had taken a war to bring them together though people often banded close when threatened by change. When all was said and done, they were both of them human, nothing more. He realised that Beatrix felt a certain camaraderie after their struggles and their shared disgrace, that she had believed he was on the brink of caving because of duty's heavy weight. If he threw away his years of service he would, in her eyes, be cheapening knighthood and it would be that much easier for her to give up too.

He selected his words carefully, aware that a misstep could catapult her back into that silent feigned disinterest in Alexandrian affairs she'd exhibited for a time. "Nobody is asking you to pick up that sword right now. I have been given a chance to redefine myself, to walk away from everything. But I'm choosing this path. I'm choosing it because I want to, not because of any sense of obligation," he paused, locked eyes with her and finished with a question he had struggled with before, "Do you want to go back?" From the emotion reflected in her single eye he could tell she knew he wasn't simply referring to going back to a city. He worried that she would imagine her debt to Lindblum was greater than her commitment to Princess Garnet, that she felt compelled to finish matters here before returning home. Never did he toy with the idea that she would quit for good though, not now. He knew her sense of duty inside-out. When he asked those questions, it was more of a courtesy than anything else.

He had questioned himself many times before but had arrived at the same conclusion: he was too entrenched in his country's affairs now, too protective of his home. He figured it was the same for her too.

She didn't miss a beat though. "I'm ready." Then, more ponderously, "I suppose I can give over chewing milkflowers now."

The invisible force pressing on his shoulders eased. His face broke into a delighted grin and he said, "That's the spirit! Now, I simply have to pay a visit to the blacksmith and we can leave immediately."

Beatrix's mouth quirked. "Steiner," she said, the barest hint of exasperation threading her tone, "I would have thought an accomplished knight such as yourself would know that fitting armour takes some time."

He crossed the distance between them and clapped her on the shoulder congenially albeit with some vigor, noting with satisfaction that she shifted with the force. Her other arm lifted, fingers ready to grab his offending hand, as he said, "I commissioned it last week."

Stopping short of breaking his fingers, her hand halted to rest atop his own. Her mouth fell open in a small O of surprise then quickly snapped shut before she stiffly patted his hand, muttering, "Just as well."

He listened as she began listing the things they needed to carry, the supplies she had to garner for the return home, and it didn't pass his notice that she skirted the subject of Save the Queen. Opting to let queries regarding that sword alone, Steiner suggested they gather what provisions they needed and meet at harbourside. He was ready to return to his beaten country with his head high. With Garnet on the throne, Alexandria would shine once more.

* * *

Despite having taken the morning to refresh themselves, the survivors of Kuja's rampage still bore the signs of war: out-of-shape armour that looked as if its owner had strayed too close to a flame, purpling spots on exposed skin at the soldiers' arms or faces, deep gashes in shields. They appeared so downtrodden that none protested when Beatrix assumed command of the ship Regent Cid had loaned them, commanding they cast off and make for Alexandria immediately, and neither did they care when she claimed one of the upper deck cabins for herself. Without thinking to ask her permission -- he was no longer so conscious of following orders -- Steiner too took up residence in one of those cabins. The Regent had warned the ship was in its infantile stages -- he had started it before his unfortunate transformation and commissioned the shipyard to finish it -- so it wasn't fast or suitable for open seas cruising. They had to stick to fairly shallow waters, which presented a scenic view of the continent at first but eventually the open plains became obscured by mountain ranges, limiting whatever pleasure Steiner had initially derived from standing outside.

The next few days were wave after wave of rolling blue. Beatrix's hair became progressively darker, a product of her ceasing to eat milkflowers every day. The knight spent much of his time in the privacy of his quarters where he would don his armour every morning and sit at his desk, reading whatever he could find, diligently copying maps from an old cartography book, sharpening the nibs on a boxful of fountain pens. Anything to keep himself occupied in those moments he took re-acclimatising to his armour, his life as a soldier. Civilian garb was something he'd grown accustomed to over his time in Lindblum.

Sometimes he would stand on deck, smiling, cool wind chasing through hair that would be restrained again once he resumed his duties. Steiner enjoyed the freedom while he could though he did not mourn the prospect of its loss. Serving Princess Garnet hardly felt like he was losing any freedom. The thought of continuing as her personal bodyguard was nothing like relinquishing his life and everything like coming home.

Sometimes he would see Beatrix standing there too. Not near the prow where people were bound to notice. No, she stood aft, holding Save the Queen before her like an offering to the gods, the sword with which Regent Cid had been too willing to part ways. Occasionally the holy relic rested on her palms upturned to the sky as if she wished the gods would spirit it away. Mostly she clasped it in an iron-fast hold at both the blade and the grip, tiny rivulets of red running down the steel at the sword's naked end. He never intruded. Only once when she chanced to walk by him did he think to ask how she felt but her face was a mask and her solitary eye was cold as the frozen wastelands surrounding Esto Gaza. The words had abruptly faded in his mouth and he'd merely bid her, "Good day," unsure why she was suddenly so distant.

By the time they rounded the last peninsula and began sailing into the closed waters of Alexandria Harbour, Beatrix's hair was brown and she had ignored him for three days running and with a sinking heart, he gave up all thought of sharing her company ever again.

* * *

- It lives! I swear this will get done one year. Only another 3 or 4 chapters to go plus an epilogue. Wargh.

- FFN ate my formatting at the chapter titles. Will have to change them all. Grrr.


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